Summoner of Storms (10 page)

John took up position between Caleb’s legs. A
little shiver of excitement from Gray raced through them both, just
before John pushed in.

Caleb moaned, reveling in the sensation of
John penetrating him. John shifted, his hands sliding to grip
Caleb’s hips. “Look at me,” he whispered.

Caleb locked his gaze with John’s, a soft
grunt escaping his lips with every thrust. John’s eyes glowed like
neon in his amped-up vision, so fucking gorgeous he’d never be able
to capture their shade in paint no matter how hard he tried.

“I won’t lose you,” John gasped. “Not to
Sean. Not to anyone.”

Caleb wrapped his hand around his aching dick
and tugged in time to John’s strokes. “We aren’t going anywhere,”
he managed to say, his brain scrambling to remain coherent as the
head of John’s cock found his prostate. “Yes! Damn, I love this. I
love you.”

John’s thrusts became more urgent, his lips
parted with need. “Love you, babe. Love you, love you both,
please—”

Whatever he pleaded for became lost in an
inarticulate cry, hips snapping forward sharply as he came deep
inside Caleb. Caleb rode the edge for a few seconds more, wringing
every possible moment of ecstasy out of it, before coming hard all
over his hand and stomach.

John braced himself above Caleb, head bowed
as he panted from exertion. As their breathing slowed, Caleb
wordlessly held out his arms. John slid into his embrace, bodies
twining together atop the ugly motel comforter.

Caleb pressed his lips into John’s forehead.
“Feel any better?”

“Sex with you always makes me feel better.”
John nuzzled him. “Every time I think this situation is too crazy
to handle, you and Gray pull me back from the edge.”

“One of the many fine services we
provide.”

John’s chuckle tickled against the skin of
his neck. “Yeah. I’m not happy about it, but I trust you two.
Just...don’t take any unnecessary chances, okay?”

Caleb suspected their definitions of
unnecessary wouldn’t exactly mesh. But this probably wasn’t the
time to bring it up. “Okay,” he agreed, tightening his grip on
John. And hoping they wouldn’t have to put it to the test.

* * *

“I don’t like this,” John says.

They stand in a small courtyard, open to the
street only via a narrow slot barely the width of a car. Brick
walls close in on three sides, and smooth concrete on the other.
Vines creep up the walls, and moss makes a brilliant splash of
green against the red bricks.

Gray tips back his head, inhaling deeply.
Before Caleb, he only perceived the scent of demons. He never
realized each city, each place, had its own unique aroma.
Charleston smells of the ocean, mingled with old, damp brick, green
trees, and the occasional whiff of horse dung. Different from the
other places they have traveled the last several days. He wonders
what the other cities he hunted in smelled like.

“But I suppose the fact you’re already
manifesting means we’re going through with it anyway.” John folds
his arms across his chest, blue eyes narrowed in Gray’s
direction.

“God, quit bitching, Starkweather.” Tiffany
scans the surroundings, her eyes wary. Her sire had left before
dawn, no doubt following whatever orders she gave him. She did not
speak of it, and neither John nor Caleb asked, although Caleb at
least was curious. “It makes sense to have someone waiting in
Sean’s apartment, and unless you can scale a brick wall, it’s got
to be the drakul. Now, when Sean shows up, do you want to keep a
bead on the front door or the side one here?”

“Side,” he mutters. Unhappy.

Gray does not particularly wish to see the
treacherous mortal Sean again. But John’s distress is more
complicated, in a way he does not entirely understand.

“
Remember when you thought John meant to
put you in a bottle and let you be killed?”

Of course.

“
You didn’t stop loving him, though, did
you? John’s been friends with Sean for a long time. He can’t just
turn off those feelings.”

I see.
And he did, at least a bit.
But John is also upset because Sean attempted to kill you. Sean
did not succeed. Why does John insist on dwelling upon it?

“
Because that’s how people work.”

It makes no sense, why mortals torment
themselves over things that might have been, but are not. Will he
ever understand them?

“
We don’t even understand ourselves. Now
let’s get a move on before Sean comes back. Assuming he’s coming
back, anyway.”

“Caleb says we must go,” Gray tells John.

John’s lips tighten, but he nods. “Okay. Once
you get up there, stop manifesting. Sean will sense you long before
he reaches the apartment, otherwise.”

Gray nods. “I understand.” He starts for the
building Sean lives in, but John grabs his hand.

“Before you go,” John says, and kisses him.
It is a good kiss, pleasure singing along their nerves. If only
they did not have to deal with this mortal foolishness, this
Forsyth and all the rest of it. They could spend their time hunting
demons and copulating, and everything would be perfect.

“
You really don’t ask much out of life, do
you?”

And yet I still do not receive it.

“Be careful, you two.” John steps back
reluctantly, his hand lingering on their chest a moment before
falling to his side.

“We shall.” Gray turns his attention back to
the brick wall in front of him. Sean’s apartment is on the top
floor of the three-story building. Other windows face onto the
courtyard, but no one seems to be watching at the moment, and the
narrow alley entrance conceals them from the street. Their chances
of discovery are as small as possible.

He takes a running leap at the wall, Caleb’s
telekinesis boosting them further. Halfway up the building, Gray
sinks his claws into the mortar between the old bricks. His boots
scrabble, seeking purchase.

He climbs quickly, not wishing to delay lest
they be seen. When he reaches the window John pointed out as
belonging to Sean’s apartment, he lets go with one hand and
attempts to open it. Locked.

“
At least it’s not hot enough to have a
window AC unit in. We’d have no choice but to throw the damn thing
into the courtyard, and someone would hear for sure.”

Growling softly, Gray pushes harder on the
window. Something gives abruptly, and he slides it open. The screen
provides no obstacle, and a moment later they are inside.

Gray crouches, sight penetrating the dimness
of the room easily. A living room with kitchen, two doors leading
off, which must go to the bed and bath. The place reeks of
cigarette smoke, and his eyes begin to water. This wait will not be
pleasant.

“
Let’s take a look around and see if we
can figure out if Sean’s even been here since Saturday.”

It doesn’t take them long to find evidence of
his presence. Half of a spirit ward is inscribed in chalk across
the doorway, the other half in the hall outside.
“I wonder if
he’s worried about us coming after him, or about Forsyth sending a
demon to take him out.”

Either way, it seems unlikely Sean would have
taken such precautions ordinarily. He must have survived the demons
and been allowed to return to his home.

“
He’s probably at work now. Let’s settle
in and wait.”

They choose a dark corner out of the direct
line of sight of the door. Gray slips back from the surface, making
himself as small and still as he can while yet observing through
Caleb’s eyes.

Caleb quickly becomes bored. Mortals often
lack patience. A few minutes of silence is too much for them, let
alone years.

“
I don’t know how to be still.”

Do as I do.

Their breathing slows. Caleb finds a
comfortable position, legs folded, wrists on his knees.

Wait. Do not anticipate, but remain
alert.

Caleb’s thoughts wander, leaping from one
thing to another.

We are hunting. Listen. Watch. Do not be
distracted.

Sounds filter from throughout this building
and the one adjoining. The murmur of televisions, interrupted by
bursts of recorded laughter. A cat meows, and a moment later there
comes the clatter of dry food into a bowl. The old joists of the
building creak, settling slowly toward the ground. In the distance,
a siren howls, first growing closer, then receding, then gone.

The sun cannot shine directly through the
windows, thanks to the surrounding buildings, but the quality of
light shifts as time passes. For a few seconds, it takes on an
almost golden glow, reflecting off clouds, before turning gray. It
vanishes, and the sterile light of a streetlamp comes to life in
the courtyard.

A car pulls in below. Others have come and
gone, but not many. They listen to the footsteps coming closer, the
door to the building shutting below. Someone is climbing the
stairs.

Gray tucks himself in even more tightly,
almost entirely cut off save for what he gleans from Caleb’s
thoughts. If Sean senses Gray too soon, he will run. Tiffany and
John may be able to stop him, but Gray fears the treacherous mortal
will shoot them if cornered.

A key in the lock. The door opens. A
pause—Sean is redrawing the spirit ward, making certain no lines
are smudged. The door shuts and footsteps cross the room.

It is time.

Gray rises to the surface, making no attempt
to hide. Sean is at the door to the bedroom, one hand on his tie,
tugging at the knot. He spins instantly, eyes going wide with sheer
terror, sending a ripple of satisfaction through Gray.

Good. This one hurt Caleb, hurt John, and he
should
be afraid.

Sean hesitates only a second, before running
for the kitchen. Does he think to hide? Foolish mortal.

Gray gives chase, a growl thrumming out of
his chest. If Sean wishes to run, to fight, so much the better. It
will give Gray an excuse to hurt him in turn.

The kitchen rug slips under Sean’s shoes, and
he half-falls onto a counter, sending a coffee cup flying to
shatter in the sink. He scrabbles wildly, grabbing up a container.
Gray has just enough time to glimpse the label reading “garlic
powder,” before Sean flings the contents directly into his
face.

* * *

John stood in the shadows of the courtyard,
trying to keep his hands from shaking.

Sean drove up just a little while ago. John
spotted the sedan from the street, glimpsed Sean’s familiar profile
before the car turned into the narrow alley to the courtyard to
park. He’d left Tiffany to watch the door leading onto the street
and followed Sean into the courtyard, just in time to see the side
door closing behind him.

Goddess. Sean.

Years ago, on a night a lot like this one,
they’d spent the evening shooting hoops on the state school’s
half-court. Everyone else had gone in to watch TV, leaving just the
two of them, sweating in the early spring warmth. Sixteen years old
and gangly, Sean with his gel-spiked hair and metal band t-shirts.
John had let his hair grow out of the conservative buzz cut from
rehab, and after a year it hung shaggy around his face and neck.
But no one at the school told him to trim it. Even the dorm wardens
just shook their heads when the barber came around and John refused
to go. It was his choice, though, just like the clothes he wore and
what music he listened to. They’d crack down when it came to
slipping grades or bad behavior, but otherwise no one cared.

It had been weird at first. No one telling
him to put on a tie, or cut his hair, or that he would go to hell
for listening to any kind of music besides Christian pop. It meant,
for the first time, he’d needed to figure out a lot of things for
himself. How did he like his hair? What kind of music did he
actually enjoy? Did he look better in a t-shirt and jeans, or did
slacks do more for his ass?

He’d figured some other things about himself
at the same time. Or more like owned up to them.

“Hey, Sean,” he said, dribbling the ball
longer than necessary. “Can I tell you something?”

Sean tried to steal the ball, but John
managed to snap it up and shoot. He missed, and it ricocheted off
the backboard. Sean caught it and lined up a shot of his own.
“Sure, man. What’s up?”

John bit his lip. “I’m gay,” he blurted.

Sean’s shot was nothing but net. “Yeah, I
figured.”

John gaped at him, not sure Sean heard him
right. “You did? How? I mean—”

“Oh, come on, dude.” Sean rolled his eyes.
“Those stupid pajamas of yours don’t hide anything. I saw you pop a
boner when Howard got out of the shower the other day. I mean, you
did a pretty good job of hiding it with the sink while you brushed
your teeth, but I was standing right by you.”

“Fuck.” He’d thought nobody noticed.

“I picked up on a couple of things earlier,
too. Checking dudes out. Not real obvious, but you know.” Sean
heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “Although I’m kind of insulted I
don’t rate even a quick once-over.”

“Ew!”

Sean’s eyes widened, and he burst out
laughing. “Ew? You jerk!”

“I just meant it would be like checking out
my brother,” John said, but he laughed too. Mostly from relief—he’d
imagined every scenario in the book, from Sean demanding a new
roommate to beating him up here on the court.

Sean threw the ball to him. “Yeah, yeah. Good
save, but I hope you’re a lot smoother when it comes to chatting up
guys. I guess I’d better play wingman, because otherwise you’ll die
a virgin.”

Everything had seemed possible that night.
They’d be friends forever. Doing good, changing the world, and of
course getting laid along the way.

And now here John stood, acid chewing his
throat while he waited for Caleb to signal he’d subdued Sean. John
would have to walk up those stairs and look Sean in the eye. And he
didn’t know if he could without throwing up or wanting to put a
bullet in Sean’s head.