by TJ Nichols
Will glanced down, but his shoes weren’t scuffed black school shoes. “I’m glad I was able to see you.” He drew in a breath and lifted his gaze. “I walked out without goodbye, and I shouldn’t have.”
Was Will doing some kind of make-amends thing? Was he dying?
A warning shiver traced down Tom’s spine. Will had been looking for him for a reason. And while part of him acknowledged that getting involved wasn’t smart, the rest of him had already done the risk assessment and decided that ditching Will a second time would be a real dick move. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Will looked up. “Telling you would be a death sentence for us both.”
The words hung in the air, and Tom didn’t know if he should laugh or take Will seriously. But the look in Will’s eyes made Tom’s blood run cold. This wasn’t the kind of trouble Will could buy himself out of. Most of their classmates would just throw a wad of money at a problem until it disappeared. Will had money, so how big was the problem?
Tom looked at the man who’d once been the first thing he thought of in the morning and the last thing at night. That summer had meant everything to him. “Maybe you could not tell me over a drink?”
For a second, Tom thought Will was going to walk away. Instead he nodded. “A drink….” He sighed and nodded as though even that might be too much.
“If you can’t tell me what, can you say how much?”
“It’s future trouble. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” The flicker of fear was back in Will’s eyes.
Conversation in the room stopped, and too many people were now watching them. Tom had been in some hairy situations before, and this one was starting to feel hostile. What the fuck was going on?
Will glanced around and shook his head as though he knew what was happening. “If I get a drink with you, I’ll be unleashing a storm.”
Tom tried to laugh, but it got lodged in his throat.
The room was dead silent now, and everyone was staring. But their faces were somehow not right. The hair on his forearms drew tight. He drew in a couple of breaths and scanned the room for the exits and the clearest paths. The urge to get out of there was almost overpowering.
“You wanted to see me because you’re in trouble. What have I got to do with it?”
“I can’t say.”
“But I’m involved?” The people moved closer, their footsteps silent. Tom’s fingers curled, and he’d have done anything for a rifle, a handgun, or even a knife.
Will didn’t answer.
Will’s trouble was now his, and Tom was already involved. Dammit. He should’ve chucked the invitation and stayed home. The reunion wasn’t his scene and hadn’t been for a while. He didn’t want to admit that he’d hoped Will would be there. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your letter, but I don’t see what I’ve got to do with any of this.”
The silence was a living blanket, and all eyes were on them. The faces of the people had become blank and hard.
Will winced and glanced around the room. “I’m sorry. I never thought this was how it would be.”
“How what would be?” All Tom wanted to do was leave. The main exit was behind him, but there was a smaller one the staff were using. There were several cocktail tables covered with glasses and leftover toothpicks. He could fight if he had to, but his old classmates were still drifting silently closer. “Are they in on it? Is this some kind of setup or prank?”
“No. I can’t explain.”
Neither could Tom—not without using words like horror movie and possession, and that shit wasn’t real. There were enough horrors in the world without making up new ones. He was sure Will knew what was going on, but he just wouldn’t say. Tom’s gaze flicked between Will and the crowd, which now hemmed them in. While no one had lifted fists or weapons, the mob was ready to tear him and Will apart. There was no way this would end well.
Adrenaline flooded his veins. The urge to fight his way out and hole up somewhere safe and out of sight was almost overwhelming, but he couldn’t leave Will. “So what now?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to see you again.” Will turned to the crowd that now surrounded them in a perfect circle. “That’s all I was doing. I swear,” he said louder, as though for their benefit. Then he lowered his voice. “You should leave. It was good to see you. And I am sorry.”
Right…. He wasn’t leaving Will there alone, so he clasped Will’s hand, and a jolt of longing passed through him. He stepped toward Paul, whose face was slack and his eyes hollow. “Let me through.”
Paul, if it was still him, didn’t move.
“Come on mate, enough games.” Tom shouldered him, and Paul pushed back.
Will tugged his hand free. “Just go. I shouldn’t have come. And they won’t let me leave.”
Tom should’ve taken the hint when his suit wasn’t ready and the accident delayed him. But he’d made it to the reunion, and everything was fine until he talked to Will. All his instincts were telling him to run, but leaving Will behind was unacceptable. What trouble had Will gotten him mixed up in?
There was only one way to get out of trouble and that was to make more trouble.
Tom grabbed a glass and broke it on the edge of the cocktail table. Then he hooked his arm around Will, dragged him close, and brought the jagged edge to his throat. Will didn’t struggle, which was interesting and disturbing.
Will would rather have glass to his jugular than face the silent, zombielike crowd.
All eyes were on them, and he hadn’t thought beyond getting out of the room and working out what the hell was going on. His pulse hammered in his ears. Maybe there’d been something in his beer. Or maybe he’d finally cracked. Some guys fell apart that way. They were fine, and then, bang, their minds couldn’t handle it anymore.
Not a single person told him to calm down or to drop the glass. No one called security. They just kept staring and inching closer.
“I’m leaving now, and I’m taking my friend with me.” The crowd took another step toward them, tightening the circle that was five deep around them. This was Will’s trouble. Maybe they wanted him alive. “If anyone moves, I’ll kill him.”
The crowd stopped as one in a way a mass of people never did. Their heads tilted as one as they stared. Tom suppressed a shudder.
“That would be merciful,” Will whispered.
Tom’s grip on the glass tightened for a moment. He wasn’t going to stab Will. Did the blank-faced zombies know it was a bluff? There was only one way to find out.
Chapter 3
WITH TOM’S arm round his chest and the broken glass perilously close to his neck, William let himself be escorted out of the reunion. The people parted to let them through, and cold gazes followed his every step, but the people didn’t follow. Their faces were waxen masks as angels watched through their human eyes. They could watch, but they hadn’t been given permission to act… yet.
The gods did love their rules. That was the only thing in William’s favor.
They reached the open doors, and Tom released him to shut them. He held the broken glass as though he knew how to use it, and he waited, his eyes darting from the door to the people walking toward them—a couple who were returning to the reunion, from the looks of it. They weren’t carrying angels, but they still gave Tom and William a filthy look. Possibly because of Tom’s clothes, or the glass in his hand, or simply because Tom and William were standing too close. Some people still felt they had an obligation to sneer.
Tom watched as the couple opened the door and went in. Conversation and laughter spilled out of the room as though nothing had happened.
“What the fuck?” Tom muttered. He stepped forward as though to return to the party.
William grabbed him. “Don’t. We can’t go back in.”
“Why not?”
“Because next time they may turn on us.” They probably wouldn’t, but he wanted a drink with Tom. He needed a way to figure out how to “tell” Tom without telling him and breachi
ng his NDA.
Tom frowned and lines carved across his forehead. “What the hell’s going on? What was that?” He hooked his thumb at the room.
Hell had nothing to do with the angels riding those people and their silent threat. But Lucifer had wanted him to attend tonight and had made sure Tom also came. Maybe there was a way to fix this. William wanted to tell Tom everything, but the moment he did, his tongue would fork and it would be all over. After tonight, Plutus would know he was trying to exploit the clause. “If I could tell you, I would.”
“Right.” Tom put the broken glass in the trash. “I’m involved, and you can’t tell me why all those people suddenly looked like extras from a horror movie.” He raked his fingers through his military-short hair. William had kept the photos they took on their summer holiday; Tom’s hair had been longer back then. They’d had their whole lives in front of them and had believed everything was possible.
Now he believed in the impossible.
“They weren’t extras. And it was real.”
“No.” Tom shook his head.
What could he say so he wouldn’t breach his NDA? “Do you believe in miracles?”
Tom considered him for a moment. “I believe I need something stronger than beer.” He walked toward the stairs that led down to the lobby and the bar.
William had stopped drinking about ten years earlier, about the time he realized exactly what he’d become. It was sober up or be permanently drunk. But he followed Tom. Tom was literally and legally the only person who could help him. And William couldn’t explain what help he needed—clearly seeing Tom again wasn’t enough, so he could cross that off his list.
Tom ordered a bourbon. “What do you want?”
The word water formed on his lips. Screw it. They were onto him anyway.
“Same. Make them both top-shelf.” William pulled out his white credit card. He could buy a small country with the credit limit.
“One top-shelf.” Tom put a twenty-dollar note on the bar.
“I’ve got it.” He owed Tom for all the times he’d been the one who bought the drinks.
The bartender poured one and looked at Tom, who clenched his jaw and shoved his money back in his pocket. “Fine. What he said.” He jerked his chin at William.
The bartender complied and took William’s card.
It felt good to be able to pay for Tom for a change, but not good enough that his contract was broken. Apologizing hadn’t worked either. He wished he had his list with him, so he could go through each item and cross them off. Maybe Tom would be able to think up a few more things to try… or maybe Tom would laugh and walk away. He really should’ve been more specific when writing his regret.
He closed his eyes as he remembered the angry way he’d written Tom’s name in blue ink—the contract wasn’t signed in blood, just regular cheap blue pen. The only kind of pen he’d been able to afford. His debt had been mounting, he still lived at home, and he’d been knocked back for yet another job because he didn’t have the right connections. Perth was insidiously small. He’d gone out to waste what was left in his wallet, but instead of getting picked up, he’d been given a business card and a meeting time. He half expected it was for an escort service, but it was his dream job. All he had to do was sign the extra-heavy-duty contract, and he could have whatever he wanted.
It was too easy, and he’d known that. He’d known there had to be a catch, but he was fed up with two-minute noodles and scouring the op shop for suitable clothes. He was done with being judged by who his family was instead of his own hard work. So he signed.
Then the man asked him to write down his biggest regret.
He was twenty-five, and he hadn’t done anything he regretted. He’d barely lived. When he asked why, the man said it’s just what they did. Everyone had the chance to fix their regret.
Nothing had been as good as that summer. No man had ever held his heart like Tom.
So that’s what William wrote. Thomas Langford.
And since that day, Tom had been impossible to find. Yet there they were, having a drink, and Miracles was worried. Will allowed himself a bitter smile.
They’d tried to stop both of them from coming to the reunion, if Tom’s bad luck was to be believed. And William believed.
Tom downed half of his drink in a few quick swallows. He wasn’t the same boy William had known and loved. He’d let what they had slip away. When Tom hadn’t replied to his letter, Will hadn’t called or done anything more, believing it was better to walk away. At the time, he’d been broke, and he was never going to be Tom’s equal.
And Tom hadn’t wanted to come out. Maybe he still wasn’t. Maybe William had been a wild experiment and nothing more, but he’d seen a glimmer of desire in Tom’s eyes, and it was enough to give him hope, and he was desperate enough to grab on to anything.
Tom put the empty glass down and ran his thumb over the rim. “So what can you tell me?”
“I work for a large firm.” The money was great, but it no longer soothed his soul. He was in up to his neck. There were no pearly gates and no feather to weigh a heart against. It was all decided by lawyers like him, who went over verbal or written contracts. The gods gathered souls like betting chips. Every god had a domain where they kept the souls they won. Existence on Earth was Hell, and that was Lucifer’s domain. The souls on Earth were Lucifer’s to argue for and protect. William hadn’t known that when he signed his contract. He’d believed the propaganda the way billions had for millennia.
He wouldn’t end up in any variation of heaven. Contract breakers did penance as shadows—forced to work for the gods, watching but never living. There was truly no rest for the wicked.
“Do I know it?” Tom pressed.
“You would.” But no one who worked for the company could talk about it. “I’m not mixed up in illegal things—no drugs or guns or bodies.” Just souls… but human law didn’t cover something so ethereal.
Tom’s shoulders eased, but he shook his head. “I have a feeling that would be better.”
“Yes. Simpler.” If Miracles were run by humans, they’d shoot him if he talked. It would be over before he knew what was going on.
“How did I get involved? It’s been twenty-five years, Will. We aren’t exactly buddies.”
The barb stung. They could’ve remained friends, but he’d been too heartsore to even try. They’d never even properly broken up. Neither of them had ever said it was over. He supposed it was better than the yelling and throwing of things that ended his last relationship—he’d been accused of cheating because he had secrets to keep. As gutting as it had been, he didn’t blame Eddie at all. He blamed himself for every failure. “We were more once.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that got to do with it?”
William’s tongue heated. He took a drink and then a second, bigger one as he remembered the pleasant burn of liquor. If he drank enough, he could forget. There were a few years that he could barely remember. But even if he was drunk, he couldn’t say what he needed to say.
Maybe it didn’t matter. If Tom no longer felt the same way, there was no way to go back and fix the mistakes of the past. His regret was impossible to fix, and he was stuck. Forever. The thought made him want to cry. His eyes prickled.
“It just does.” He finished his drink, and the familiar buzz slid through him.
The bartender’s eyes flashed red as he watched.
“Another two.” William tapped his glass.
The gods played by the rules, and there was always an out. He had to fix things with Tom. Was the regret as simple as not keeping in touch? Fine. He’d call Tom once a week to catch up. But he knew remaining friends wasn’t it, as there was no loosening of the bonds.
He couldn’t even tell Tom he was part of the contract, so they could figure it out together.
Three fails so far. It wasn’t keeping in contact, apologizing, or buying Tom a drink for a change. But the night was still young, and there were a few more things
on his list to try. His gaze slid over Tom. He was not the same boy, but a man, and he’d lost none of his appeal. Tom’s “she’ll be right” attitude had always made William want to throw common sense to the wind. He had done so several times, but he regretted none of the time they’d spent together.
No, that wasn’t true, he regretted the arguments.
The drinks were placed in front of them.
Tom turned and watched him. He steadily sipped his drink as he worked through the problem. Will had seen that expression many times before, usually when Will was helping Tom with a math assignment. “I’ve seen a lot of shit, but up there was something else.”
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it either.” Mass possession wasn’t used very often—too many resources in one place tended to make odd things happen, and humans got twitchy.
“But you know what it was.”
William nodded. The shadows had been worried enough to bring in the angels, and they had come en masse to give him a scare. Angels were always about, lurking in those moments when the light was momentarily blinding. His situation had gone beyond being stalked by shadows.
“Fuck, Will.” Tom shook his head. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“Neither do I. That I’m here with you now is trouble enough.”
The bartender stared with that dead expression, and William glanced away fast. Tom noticed and studied the bartender and his unblinking gaze.
“Yet here we are. You know what? I’m thinking room service might be better.” A smile curved Tom’s lips.
He still had the kind of smile that suggested mischief. Back then it had been Tom putting up the cash for whatever they were about to do. His weekly allowance was more than William made in a month in his casual after-school job.
What was Tom planning now?
Tom downed his second drink and stood. He was close now. He smelled of bourbon and aftershave. “You didn’t want to see me just to talk about old times.” He grabbed William’s hand. “We’re both single.”
