Otherworld Nights (35 page)

“Mmm, I don’t know. I hate having you away, but I really like it when you come back. There’s something to be said for two weeks of celibacy.”

“Then just come hang with me. We’ll get separate hotel rooms.”

“And that arrangement would work—”

“—about as well as separate apartments?”

“Yep.”

He lifted me up and tossed me into bed. A remarkable feat, given that we’re both six feet tall. I admired his form as he did it. At thirty-two, Adam’s in the best shape he’s ever been, and he’s always
been in a damn fine one. He jokes that he’s upped his workouts to keep up with me, but I worry that last year’s battle with Balaam spooked him. He denies it. I don’t push. We’re all dealing as best we can with the fallout of Gilles de Rais’s assault on our world. I spend more time honing my spells; Adam spends more time lifting barbells.

After he threw me into bed, he walked out. He didn’t go far. I heard the fridge open and then close. He returned, popping open two beers and handing me one.

“Sublet on this place is coming up soon, isn’t it?” he said, putting his beer on the nightstand.

I tensed. Luckily, he didn’t notice, his back to me as he plunked onto the bed. He stretched out beside me.

“Next month,” I said.

“Any thoughts on that?”

“Not really.”

“Kind of a waste having two apartments when we’re always together in one or the other.”

I’d taken the sublet seven months ago. Yes, I’d moved into Adam’s building
after
we started dating. I’d still been living with Paige and Lucas, and Adam and I had decided my first major step toward independence shouldn’t be moving into my boyfriend’s apartment. The unspoken plan had always been to reconsider that when my sublet ran out. Yet now I said nothing. I watched him sit up, take another slug of his beer, hoping to give me time to say,
Oh, right. Let’s talk about that
. I did not.

I lay there, stomach churning, feeling like the biggest bitch in the world. And the biggest coward.

“So …” He fidgeted with his beer can. “We have options. Obviously, if you’re comfortable with this arrangement, that’s totally fine. My lease comes up in the fall. We could reconsider then.”

He glanced over. When I didn’t answer, he seemed to take that to mean I didn’t want to postpone moving in together, and he exhaled
in relief, then thumped his can onto the nightstand, resolved now.

“Okay, so options. One, you move into my place. But my apartment isn’t any bigger than this one. So I’m kind of thinking …” Deep breath. “I’m thinking we could get a place for us.”

A sidelong glance my way. I nodded, and his grin ignited. He leaned over and gave me a smack on the lips. “We’re on the same page, then. Good.”

No, we’re not. I mean, we are. I want this. God, how I want this. But …

Talk to him, damn it. How hard is that? You two barely shut up when you’re together.

I don’t know what to say. I need … I need to work this out first. On my own
.

Adam continued. “Okay, so like I said, we have choices. We can stay at my place while we work them out. I don’t want to rush getting a place, because … well, options, right? We can get a better apartment, or maybe a townhouse. Or …” He picked up the can again, taking a slug, his resolve shaky again. “There are other possibilities. I’ve, uh, got enough put aside for a down payment if you, uh, wanted a longer-term option.”

“It’d have to be fifty-fifty if we went that route.”

“Of course. I just didn’t want to presume. Is that a yes, then?” His grin hovered there, behind his eyes, ready to ignite again the moment I said the word.

Yes, I want to move in with you. Yes, I want “long term.” I want a condo, a house, something that says I plan to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. Hopefully forever
.

Yes. God, yes
.

“Can I think about it?” I asked, and that light in his eyes evaporated.

Still he smiled, and said, “Sure. It’s a big step. We’ve got a few weeks before you need to decide on the sublet.”

“I only need a few days.”

“No problem.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead, and I knew it
was
a problem. That wasn’t the response he’d hoped for. Not at all.

“I’m not trying to rush you,” he said as he crushed his beer can. “I’m never going to rush you, Savannah.”

“You aren’t. I just … I need to think about that.”

“Sure. Absolutely. No problem.” More can crushing. “So, uh, we should …”

A phone vibrated. We both looked toward the front hall, where we’d left our jeans.

“Bets on whose it is?” he said, pushing out of bed.

“Yours. I can tell by the tone.”

“Of the
vibration
?” He laughed, relaxing now as he headed for the door. “Bullshit. Dinner says it’s yours—Paige calling to remind us to file a report before we get distracted.”

“Too late.”

He came back in holding my phone. “Not Paige. Dinner’s still on you, though.”

“Never agreed.”

“Too bad.”

I rolled my eyes and took the phone. The name came up blocked. A call forwarded from the office, then. When you run a PI agency for supernaturals, most calls come from blocked and private numbers.

I answered with, “Savannah Levine, Cortez and Winterbourne Investigations.”

“Hello.” It was a male voice. Age indeterminate because he seemed to be lowering it. Again, not unusual. “We spoke earlier today about Denver Brown.”

Denver. Not a name I’d forget, no matter how busy my day had been. And definitely not one I’d forget considering he’d been the
reason
my day was so crazy.

Denver Brown. Approximately my age, maybe a couple of years older. Dark hair. Average height and weight. And that was all I
knew about him … barring the fact that he was currently spattered over a half-finished apartment.

“Right,” I said. “You’re the one who gave me the tip. A little late, mind you, but one fewer demon summoner in the world isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We managed to send the demon back before it killed anyone who
wasn’t
stupid enough to summon it.”

Silence stretched out long enough for me to say, “Hello?”

“Denver’s dead?”

The voice had changed now. Higher pitched. Younger. Barely able to get the words out. Shit. Oh, shit.

When my tipster had phoned earlier, he’d claimed to know the black market merchant who sold Denver his materials.

They aren’t friends of mine
, he’d said.
Not the guy selling that shit, and definitely not the dumb kid who plans to use it. I just want the kid stopped before he does something stupid, and if you can put the merchant out of business, all the better
.

A supernatural doing his civic duty. It happened at least once a week, though usually with infractions far less serious than summonings. But this tipster had been very clear that he didn’t know Denver Brown. He’d been lying. I replayed my words—my sarcastic, heartless assessment of the situation—and my stomach lurched.

Seeing my reaction, Adam frowned and put his hand out to say,
You want me to take it?
I shook my head.

“There were … complications,” I said. “Before I arrived.” I winced at that. First words out of my mouth? Deny responsibility.

“So he’s dead?”

“Yes, I’m afraid—”

“That’s fine,” he said, deepening his voice, pulling the persona back in place. “Dumb kid. What does he expect, right?”

“I’m—”

“I’ll handle it from here. Just tell me where to find …” A slight crack covered with a cough. “The body. I’ll track down family and make sure they know and that he gets a proper burial.”

“We’ll handle—”

“You’ve done enough. Thank you. Where can I find him?”

Sweat trickled down my forehead. “Can we meet? I think we should talk—”

“Not necessary. Just tell me where he is.”

“Let’s meet. Completely confidential and—”

“And apparently I’m going to have to find him myself. Good day, Ms. Levine.”

The caller hung up. I sat there, heart pounding, thinking of that room. That horrible room where the demon got his revenge.

No, it was okay. He couldn’t possibly find it.

But someone would, and then this guy would hear what had happened to his friend.

“Savannah?” Adam sat beside me. “What’s going on?”

In my mind, I saw that room with the blood and the bits of Denver Brown covering every surface. My mental gaze dropped to a pile of belongings in the corner. Brown’s jacket, folded neatly. On top of it, a cell phone.

I jumped to my feet and raced out the bedroom door.

“Tracing a cell phone isn’t that easy,” Adam said as he drove us across town, zooming along the quiet side streets, taking whatever shortcut he could find, at whatever speed he dared. “Even we have a helluva time doing it, despite our contacts.”

“Did you hear what I said?” I whispered.

“No, sorry. I missed it. Damn wind noise.” He forced a smile for me. “Another reason to stop buying Jeeps, right?”

“I meant, did you hear what I said to that kid?” I mimicked myself, infusing my voice with extra sarcasm. “ ‘One fewer demon summoner in the world isn’t necessarily a bad thing.’ ” I inhaled a jagged breath. “I was talking to someone who
knew
him, Adam.”

“You had no way of realizing—”

“Does it matter? Really? If I want to make fun of demon summoners to you, that’s fine. You know I’m just being a smart-ass. But I should damn well have the decency to keep my mouth shut when I’m talking to anyone else, because I don’t know
who
I’m talking to. And they don’t know me. That kid cared about Denver Brown, and that’s how he got the news of his death. One fewer dumbass in the world. Ha-ha.”

Adam reached over to squeeze my leg. A quick squeeze, withdrawing quickly because he knew I wasn’t looking for comfort. “You made a mistake,” he said, because that was the right thing to say, not
Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself
. I didn’t want that, either.

“It’s a lesson for both of us,” he said. “I’m just as likely to make a crack like that in front of the wrong person. I’ve certainly done it before.”

“Not as bad as that one.”

“Only for lack of opportunity. With each other, it’s fine, but we need to pretend the rest of the world is Paige. You know if you said that to her, you’d get a stern look.”

“Even if she secretly agrees with the sentiment?”

A snorted laugh. “Yeah. Okay. Bad example. But we’ll fix this. Paige and Lucas are meeting us. Everything will be fine.”

Adam and I watched Paige zip her Prius into a parking spot a block from the building. She and Lucas were deep in conversation. I walked over to stand beside the car and tapped my watch. Neither noticed. They weren’t arguing. I’ve rarely heard them argue. They were just talking about some matter of discussion or debate, completely wrapped up in it and each other. Nine years together, and they still never seemed happier than when they were in each other’s company. That’s what I have with Adam, and I want it to last, and I think it can. I really think it can. But the moment I start dreaming of that …

I tapped the window. Lucas got out first. Lucas Cortez. Thirty-three. Shockingly, not wearing a suit, but only because we were about to clean up a very messy crime scene. Glasses, short hair, as unassuming a guy as you could want to meet. Also, heir to the most powerful American Cabal—a position he’d gone from outright refusing to grudgingly accepting once he realized that the supernatural world was actually
worse
off if he turned his back on his family business. It was complicated. That’s the best that could be said about it.

Paige grabbed her purse and got out. Paige Winterbourne. Thirty-one. Long, curly brown hair. Five foot two with an enviable figure. Ten years ago, she’d rescued me from the people who’d killed my mother. I’d repaid her by being the most ungrateful little bitch imaginable. I’d been twelve and pissed at the world, and I sure as hell hadn’t wanted to be in the care of Glinda the goody-two-shoes Coven witch. She still gave up everything she had to fight for me. The tough side of me comes from Mom. But everything that’s good in me? That’s Paige, and I adore her for it, with a love, an admiration, and a respect I show every chance I get.

“God,” I said. “Could you drive any slower? Seriously, Paige. You have got to trade that milk box in for something with balls.”

“Like your motorcycle?” She popped the trunk open and handed me an overstuffed duffle. “Notice how, when we actually need to work, someone
else’s
bike stays in the shed.” She looked at Lucas. “Can’t stuff crime-scene cleanup supplies in your saddlebags, can you?”

“She actually did exceed the speed limit,” Lucas said to me. “By at least five miles an hour. For almost the entire duration of the trip.”

“Please note that he did not ask me to increase my speed, likely because he didn’t want to be the one explaining to the nice traffic cop why we have crime-scene cleaning supplies in our trunk.” She took out another duffle for Adam. “I also brought a
plastic bag to remove the body. Please tell me I only need one.”

“Uh …” I glanced over at Lucas. He obviously hadn’t relayed my description of the corpse in detail. Not surprising. There was a reason I’d told him rather than Paige.

“One will be sufficient,” he said. Which was technically true.

We started for the building.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Paige said.

She didn’t mean with the demon. She meant the phone call afterward. When I didn’t reply, she said, “Lucas? Adam?” In other words:
Can you guys walk on ahead?

“They can stay,” I said. Then I told her what happened. No, I told her what I’d done, blurting my confession as if I were still a kid and had set the curtains aflame with an errant fireball. Except, as a kid, I’d have followed that with a dozen reasons why it wasn’t really my fault—it was my over-juiced powers plus the fact I’d been interrupted by her phone call, and who makes flammable curtains anyway. Anything to lay the blame elsewhere. Today, I took the fall, fully and completely.

“I was insensitive,” I said as I finished. “A big shock, I know.”