Chapter 10

 

 

JORY CLUNG to his backpack until they made it back to his apartment. Mal wasn’t sure what was so damn important about it, but Jory had refused to leave it behind.

“Come on, the more time we waste, the worse peeling away that sweater is going to be. Get out of those pants and get in the shower.”

Jory gave him a hesitant grimace, then turned his head and stared down at his shoulder. “Can’t I just yank it off?”

“Are you actually fully healed? If there’s still a scab or a fresh scar, yanking it is going to hurt. The shower will make it easy.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Mal kicked his boots toward his coat, then considered Jory’s expression and the complicated notes his scent had taken on underneath the blood. “What?”

“This wasn’t how I imagined getting you into the shower with me, that’s all.” Jory went into the bathroom. “How, exactly, do you intend to get this off me?”

Mal watched with rapt attention as Jory shucked his jeans. When Jory shoved his boxers down and kicked them back toward his pants, Mal swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way Jory’s ass peeked out from under the hem of his sweater.

Jory started the shower, turning the water hot enough that it began to steam up the bathroom, and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

“Stop it,” Mal said, gently moving Jory’s hands away.

“I wish I had some way to cut it.”

He batted Jory’s hands away from the collar and steered him into the shower. “Stop. Seriously, leave it be and get in.”

“I’m not sure this is going to help,” Jory said, stepping into the tub and turning his back into the spray. The water poured over his sweater and Mal turned the showerhead this way and that, directing the flow until the black fabric began to sag under the weight of the water. Mal leaned into the tub and tugged Jory back a few inches, positioning him so the water hit the back of his neck, where it ran down over his shoulder and sleeve. It took a few minutes, but eventually the sweater became flexible and loose again. Even soaked, it stuck a little. “Fuck,” Mal whispered. He carefully pulled the bottom layer loose and eased the fabric up over Jory’s rib cage. “You didn’t have to hold back. Can you lift up your arms?”

Jory easily raised both of his arms over his head. “I am a really good liar, but I was telling the truth about this. They’re mostly healed, and I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Getting the sweater off was slow and awkward, working the wet fabric loose and revealing four evenly spaced cuts that ran from the top of Jory’s shoulder blade and down over his arm. They still looked painful, the blood on the surface starting to coagulate again. “If those shapes are forms I’ve never used, what good are they? I hate seeing you hurt like this.”

“I really am okay. I kind of wish I’d healed Louise after I killed that dragon,” Jory grumbled. “Then I wouldn’t have had to drain you at all.”

“Uh, you fixed Louise up just fine, and the dragon was alive when we ran. It limped away to lick its wounds, but it was definitely alive.”

“I….” Jory chuckled. “How stupid would you think I am if I told you that I gave the dragon back its power? I killed it, and afterward I had enough energy that I could have healed Louise without getting a scratch myself.”

Mal froze, holding in Jory’s scent. He was telling the absolute truth. Mal’s stomach felt like someone had dropped a lead weight into it. A dragon, even a weak one, was a powerhouse among the servants of Hel. Only the strongest demons could enslave one, and they had to be enslaved because no one but another dragon could hope to kill one. The sheer amount of destruction they could rain down upon Hel if left unchecked was catastrophic. Even the strongest incubus, even Asmodeus himself, could only take in so much power before it destroyed them.

“Mal?” Jory glanced at him over his shoulder, an uncertain smile on his face.

He coughed, glancing around for anything else to talk about. “Uh…. You’re lucky Louise was a hellhound when she got hurt. These might have gone all the way down your back if she’d been a different shape. What made these, anyway? I mean, the dragon was in a human skin, so it….”

“It had retractable claws,” Jory said quietly. “They cut through Louise like razor blades.”

“Damn.” Mal balled up the clothes and squeezed some of the water out, watching the red tint flow down the shower drain. He tossed the clothes aside and examined the cuts, relieved that there wasn’t any unnatural heat or inflammation around the damaged skin. Jory still would have been stuck with stitches if he’d gone to the hospital, but it could have been worse.

“See? With all the blood gone, they look like cat scratches.” Jory looked back over his shoulder and met Mal’s gaze.

“Cats don’t have claws that are almost a half-inch wide.”

“At least they’re not as bad as hers.”

“These are hers,” Mal reminded him. “And she feels shitty enough about that.”

“Is that why she wouldn’t come inside?”

“She’s keeping watch. If she’s uncomfortable or if anything happens, she can let me know.”

“Even from a distance?”

“Yes, even from a distance. Why do you think I came running when I did?”

Mal watched until the water trickling over the cuts on Jory’s shoulder ran clear, making sure that they hadn’t started bleeding again. He set his hands on Jory’s hips, twisting him a little to let the spray wash the front of each cut. He tried to ignore the energy vibrating beneath Jory’s skin, but as he ran his hands up the sides of Jory’s waist and down again, splaying his fingers over the curve of Jory’s ass, his impulse to shield and protect Jory morphed into a primal lust that Mal hadn’t imagined he could feel with a lover who wasn’t a hellhound. The steam around them carried Jory’s scent everywhere, making his head spin as he traced a finger down Jory’s spine and along the cleft of his ass. If Jory wasn’t still hurt, Mal wasn’t sure he’d be able to ignore the instincts telling him to lean Jory against the tile wall, spread him wide, and claim him as his own.

Mal stepped back, turning away from the shower completely. “I’ll wring out your shirt.”

“You don’t want to climb in here with me?” Jory asked. The inviting smile melted a moment later, replaced with an awkward, thoughtful frown.

“As fun as rough shower sex sounds, I think a bandage might be a better idea.” He ran his hands through his hair and down over his face, trying to figure out what to make of Jory’s expression. “They might just be scratches now, but they’re still bleeding a little.”

Jory lowered his head and rolled his shoulders, the motion making a few tendons pop loud enough for Mal to hear.

“Just relax and enjoy the shower. I’ll pick through what we grabbed from the first aid kit, so towel off when you’re done.” Ignoring his own erection, he headed back out to the stack of gauze pads Jory had taken from the first aid kit downstairs.

When the shower stopped a moment later, Mal was still sorting through everything and trying to calm down. Jory emerged wearing a pair of loose basketball shorts, his skin still glistening.

“Go ahead and sit down,” Mal said, gesturing to a spot in front of him on the futon.

Jory eased himself down with his back to Mal and let him cover each section of the cuts, gently smoothing the tape down around the edges. When Mal was finished, Jory twisted to look at the thick swath of bandages running down his shoulder. “Three gauze pads for a few scratches?”

“They’re long scratches.” Mal trailed his fingers down Jory’s arms, thrilled when Jory shivered under his touch. He fixed his gaze on Jory’s neck, tempted to kiss him again, to lick and bite the spot that had made Jory quiver in the hotel room that morning. He leaned away from him instead.

Mal opened his mouth to insist that Jory lie down on his stomach to rest, but he never had a chance to get the words out. Jory rose from the futon in a single smooth motion and went to the pink Black Cat to-go box.

“So where are we going from here?” Jory asked, pulling a couple of almond croissants out and casually offering him one.

“Nowhere just yet,” he said honestly, waving off the offered pastry. He grabbed his clothes and got dressed quickly. “That was exhausting, and you’re still hurt. A lot of demons can command a ghoul, but dragons…. If we just run without knowing what we’re running from, we won’t make it far. If it’s a demon lord who can work in the ether, we’re fucked, because distance works differently there.”

“Ether?”

“It’s the space between the worlds. Passing through it when someone’s already opened a gate is easy, but some of the powerful nobility can actually stay in the ether, using it to move around.” He thought about the way Neal had appeared in front of him. “And some of them use it just to fuck with people.”

“How are we going to figure out what it is? You’re saying it can be anywhere, and so far all it’s done is send lackeys after me.”

“It’s something that considers a dragon to be a lackey. Unfortunately, that narrows it down a lot.”

Before the ghoul had taken its host, the poor bastard had been human. The way this fiasco had escalated, from a lesser demon who would be more than a match for a human to a monster suited to killing a demon, was telling. Mal had probably made it worse, since he’d provided ample evidence that Jory was powerful enough to command a pack of hellhounds. Which meant whoever was pulling the strings had believed Jory was a human at first, but now it knew better.

Mal had assumed that whatever was hunting Jory was after him because he was a demon, but if Jory’s species was news to his would-be assassin, then that limited the playing field. Most humans who had bothered to amass the knowledge necessary to summon and work with a demon were dead, but he himself was proof that Eugene could contract with a demon to hunt Jory down. Mal hadn’t demanded anything as ridiculous as his soul, but a contract was still binding, regardless of the payment offered. If Eugene was desperate, summoning another demon wasn’t beyond his capabilities.

But would they summon someone else so quickly? Mal hadn’t reported back in a few days, and even before he’d sent cursory reports that he was getting close to finding Jory, but somehow Mal wouldn’t be surprised.

When the first PI they’d hired had vanished, they hadn’t bothered to call the police or go look for the guy—they’d hired Mal. If they suspected Mal might not be up to the job, would they try to contract with something more powerful?

“Rest,” Mal said again. “Even if you’re okay, I need rest. I’m going to go find another place to park and make sure Louise is okay, but I’ll be back up in a minute.”

Mal grabbed his phone and went back down to his car, googling the name of Adam Luhmann’s missing private investigator again. He’d seen a photo of the guy while he was tracking him in Minnesota, but he had to be sure. The PI had a webpage that looked professionally designed, complete with a description of his services and a price list, but it took Mal a minute of following links and menus before he found one. Studying him in more detail, Mal noted his short, neatly styled brown hair, his cold, professional smile, and a suit that looked too familiar.

Derek Grant had looked a lot better when he’d been alive.

Louise, who’d given up her hellhound form in favor of being a pug once more, was curled up in a blanket on the back steps of the café, with a bowl of water and a plate of pumpkin cookies. The back door was open, and the smells wafting out made Louise look like she’d be happy to stay right there forever.

“You okay?” he asked.

She sighed and burrowed into the blanket a little more.

He sat down beside her and gently touched her shoulder. She wasn’t physically hurt anymore, but she was still reeling from the attack. “You should come upstairs and rest.”

You should decide if you’re keeping him alive to fulfill the contract or because you care about him.

“How can I not? He’s… nice. Actually, genuinely nice. Despite all the shit he’s been through, despite being alone for most of his life, he’s a decent guy.”

She grumbled.

“Yes, he’s hot and amazing in bed. And smells so wonderful it’s distracting. But that’s only part of it. I can’t let them hurt him again. But the Barnetts aren’t giving up. They’ve already summoned something else. And I’m….” He buried his face in his hands. He didn’t want to admit that he felt weak as a puppy after Jory drained him. He’d get over it, he knew he would, but he probably needed to rest more than Jory did at the moment. “Even holding back, he’s so much stronger than me that it’s pathetic, but he’s also so weak and worn down.”

He unlocked his cell phone and stared at the photo of Derek Grant again. “The body that ghoul was riding around in,” he said, showing Louise the phone.

She tilted her head so her temple was resting against his hand. And what do you want me to do?

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “That old incubus hasn’t shown his face again, so trying to get answers from him is probably pointless. We could try tracking the dragon, but—” He stopped, noting the wave of fear that swept through her. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that after what happened.”

If the Barnetts summoned another demon, we could tell them Jory’s escaped, have them convince the other demon that he’s gone somewhere else.

“That’s a good idea. If nothing else, maybe we could head the opposite direction. It might buy us some time. But not today. This whole building has enough wards on it that I think Jory will be okay, except maybe when he’s walking between the two doors. You should come upstairs and get some sleep too. We’re stronger as a pack.”

She huffed and rolled over.

He climbed to his feet again and went to his car, grabbing the sketchbook and kit he’d planned to bring up to Jory’s to entertain himself while Jory packed, along with a couple of cheap paperbacks too. When he closed the trunk, Louise still hadn’t gotten up.

“Come on,” he said, scooping her and the blanket up in one arm. “I won’t even make you walk. We’ll circle until we find a parking spot out front, and then we can all relax.”

You won’t have any warning if we’re both asleep indoors.

“I won’t be able to sleep if you’re not safe—not after everything that’s just happened—and I need the rest.”

She didn’t argue any more, particularly when he managed to balance the plate of cookies on top of his sketchbook. It took almost forty minutes of circling the café to find a parking spot with the weekend crowds, and even then it was at the far end of the block, but it would have to do. When he was done, he hauled Louise and their stuff upstairs, where he gave Jory a sheepish grin, silently asking if Louise could stay too.

Jory swooped in and took Louise from him like a baby, setting her down on the blanket and carefully running his hands over her fur. “I’m sorry you’re still sore.”

In response, Louise nuzzled his hand, rolled over onto her back, and stretched out for a nap. Jory looked up at Mal, beaming. “She is so adorable as a pug. I can’t picture her as a human, though.”

“She likes being who she is, and she knows how to pull off adorable.” He set his stuff down on the floor, checked the door locks, then shed his boots again. “Hang out with me? Just to rest?”

Jory sighed and nodded before he wandered toward the bed.

Mal wasn’t sure how long he slept, but when he woke up, it was dark outside and he was curled around Jory and using him as a pillow. He felt almost completely better, but he didn’t particularly want to move. When he couldn’t get back to sleep, he reached for his sketchbook, arranged himself as carefully as possible, and drew his current favorite subject yet again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get sick of sketching Jory’s features. Jory woke up a few hours later, rolled over onto him, and sighed.

Mal set his sketchbook aside and wrapped his arms around Jory, enjoying the warmth and proximity more than he’d ever thought he could.

“Where’s Louise?” Jory asked, lifting his head up quickly.

“She let herself out and took my keys about an hour ago,” Mal said, tugging Jory back down onto his chest.

“Your dog let herself out… and took your car.”

“She’s not a dog,” he mumbled. “She can be a woman when she wants, and she’s got clothes and stuff in the car. Odds are she decided to go find a cheeseburger or ten.”

“She’s….”

“Perfectly willing to pretend to be human long enough to get fast food, yeah. She hates to drive almost as much as she hates wearing clothes, but sometimes she’s got to.”

Jory relaxed against him, shaking his head. “That is hard to get used to.”

“She didn’t particularly want to stay here, anyway. Pheromones and stuff.”

“I never thought about that. Now I kind of wish I had a bigger apartment.” Jory leaned up and planted a soft kiss along Mal’s jaw.

“We can figure something out,” Mal said, turning to kiss him. “But we should think about breakfast too.”

Jory’s disappointed groan left Mal grinning, despite the circumstances.

“What’s that look for?” Jory asked.

“I’m just glad I met you,” Mal said, running his fingers through Jory’s hair. “I know everything’s kind of fallen apart in the last couple of days, but can we keep doing this?”

Jory sat up, smiling. “We’re already running away together. I think we might have jumped past the whole second-date thing. Breakfast, though? That’ll mean going out, since….” He gestured to the empty counters.

“You spend every waking moment at work and just eat there,” Mal translated.

“Yup.”

 

 

THEY SPENT the rest of the morning in the café, tucked into a booth in the far corner. Jory seemed to get a kick out of watching Mal fill a half-dozen tiny squares of paper with watercolor sketches. Mal was only too happy to work his way through the café menu again and listen to Jory talk. Mal noticed he stayed away from talking about his life in the church, instead describing his adventures in different foster homes, different school districts, and different subdivisions around St. Louis. Without overprotective parents to keep track of him, Jory got to explore the city on his own, often riding the bus downtown and getting into trouble with the whole parade of foster brothers who wandered in and out of his life.

“Of course, when I hit thirteen and realized that I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about when they rambled on about girls, things got kind of weird. When I was staying with the Gibsons, I had the biggest crush on their son Jamaal. He was on the middle school wrestling team, and watching his matches was torture. When I finally told him, he was actually really cool about it. He just asked if I’d be upset if he didn’t feel the same. I was sure he’d hate me, and all he was worried about was that he’d hurt my feelings.”

Mal shoved a chunk of cupcake into his mouth and licked the frosting off his fingers. “Did you manage to stay in touch?”

“No,” Jory said. “His parents were less cool about it than he was. The day after they found out, they sent me back to DFS, insisting I had too many behavioral problems. But then I ended up at Barbara’s, so it turned out all right.”

“She was the one who gave you to the bastard at your church?”

Jory stared at the table between them, fidgeting. “She wanted the best for me. And she actually cared, which was a lot more than everyone else did.”

“Have you thought about going back?”

“I can’t. When Adam finds out I survived and I’m okay, he’ll come after me. He knows I cared about her and he knows he can use her against me. And now with the demon trying to kill me…. The best thing I can do for her is stay far away.”

Mal set his hand on top of Jory’s, rubbing little circles over Jory’s knuckles. “It won’t do any good to tell you that you should go to the cops again, huh?”

“With my luck, I’d end up in prison too. Besides, New Life Ministries wasn’t exactly a life-or-death struggle. Except that last bit.”

“I admit, my childhood was a little more violent, but at least I had a family. We’d fight, hunt, or just run around every day. Of course, school was something that happened to other creatures, and I never realized how much of a difference it could make until I crossed over. When I fell into bounty hunting, I could afford books and take time to learn how to read. It sounds ridiculous now, but it’s a bigger deal than most people realize.”

“You weren’t even taught to read?”

“I’m afraid not. Coming here, though, changed everything for me. Advances in science and technology have been astounding. Humans can do more with electronics than most of Hel can do with magic. And because we’ve always had magic, there’s no reason to try to catch up.”

“That seems kind of crazy. Did any of your other siblings ever leave?”

Mal shrugged. “I doubt it. It’s been so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize any of them. I hope some of them managed to escape, if nothing else just to see everything this world has to offer.”

Jory was quiet for a moment. “You can’t go back, can you?”

He took a deep breath and sighed. “You’re going to hate me if I tell you about it.”

“You were exiled for bringing a murderer to justice. I don’t think I could hate anyone for that.”

He huffed. “I didn’t drag my brother back, Jory, I dragged back his body, once the human bounty hunter got paid. Worse still, I threw out tradition, honor, and the whole politics and succession bullshit. I didn’t beat him in a fair fight, I killed him in an ambush. If I had challenged him—taken him out in a one-on-one fight—my family would have thrown me a fucking party. But he killed more than just that little hellhound, he killed a human sheriff and his deputy when he got here. He ate them. I wasn’t about to let my ego stop me from bringing him down.”

Jory’s serious gaze left little doubt about how much he might have just ruined things.

“If you don’t want to keep hanging out, once I get you someplace safe, we can—”

Jory moved around the table in a flash, dragging Mal into a suffocating hug. He wrapped his arms around Jory’s back, shocked to feel him trembling.

“Jory, I….” He didn’t know what to say.

“No,” Jory murmured against his temple. “I’ve seen people do more morally questionable things than I care to think about, but that’s not one of them. I don’t know how you ended up being so different, how you ended up as you, but I’m glad you did. I know I’m not exactly an authority on what it means to be a decent person, but I’m pretty sure you qualify.”

Hana dropped a box onto the table between them, a giant sticky bun topped with candied pecans inside. She tossed an apron onto Jory’s head. “If you’re going to stay, you should help beat the crap of out of the butter for tomorrow’s croissants. Mal, there’s a naked old woman with a Burger King bag sitting on the hood of your car.”

“Louise’s back?” Jory asked.

“Sorry,” Mal said, smirking. “She’s a rottweiler. The only thing she understands about clothes is that humans think they’re important and they suck.”

“Well, while you check on her, I’m going to go make big slabs of butter pliable.”

“I might go check on something else too. If you stay in the building, you should be safe until I get back.”

“And what makes you think you’ll be safe leaving?”

“This thing’s not trying to kill me,” he said with grim certainty. If Eugene was behind this, it probably wasn’t trying to kill Jory either, but Mal wasn’t willing to risk it. “I’ve got a good sense of smell, and magic leaves a trail. I just want to poke around. Given the fact that this entire building is owned by an ifrit-spawn, the wards around the place make sense. I know I couldn’t get into the kitchen when I wanted to talk to you—not until your friend Hana gave me permission.”

“You came into the café, though.”

“That’s different,” he explained. “The café is open to the public. Everyone is invited in. But homes are sacred.”

Jory quirked an eyebrow at him.

Hana crossed her arms. “He’s right. Entering a home without permission is difficult. Entering a home that’s been warded to exclude everyone but guests hurts.”

“Does that apply to everyone like us?” Jory asked.

She nodded. “Pretty much.”

“But obviously not normal people.”

“Normal people usually aren’t much of a threat. Will you stay here?” Mal almost begged. “If I can’t find anything, I’ll come back here and we can regroup.”

“Does it matter if the invitation is delivered in person?” Jory asked, apparently ignoring him. “Like, if I had just said that you were invited in while you weren’t around, would you be able to come inside?”

“I’ve never really tested it. You?” he asked Hana.

“No clue. I’d say ask my mom, but she took off early to get some sleep.”

Jory nodded, his gaze fixed on the empty space in front of him rather than on Mal. “Okay,” he said, some of the uncertainty in his tone gone. “I’ll stay here, then.”

Jory tilted his head up and kissed him, softer than he’d expected, almost shy. The gentle pressure he felt as Jory’s bottom lip slid against his was almost his undoing. He felt like he was kissing a live wire, energy flooding into him as their lips moved. Jory’s tongue brushed against his mouth, soft but insistent, and Mal opened to him, eager and delighted. When Mal tried to deepen the kiss, to tug Jory close, Jory pulled away, hardly even breathing hard.

“You taste so much better than your damn cookies,” he whispered, cupping Jory’s cheek.

Jory chuckled. “Be safe, okay?”

“I’m a hellhound,” Mal reminded him. “I’m not easy to kill.”

 

 

LOUISE, ONCE again a pug, had left his car in the alley. He could smell the cheeseburgers around her, but she’d apparently cleaned up her mess, because the smell was all the evidence that remained. “Stay here,” he ordered her. “Keep him safe. In fact, if something goes wrong, help him get out. You’ve still got my keys, right?”

She shot a gaze toward the front wheel.

“Right.”

He couldn’t think this close to the building, this close to the smell of Jory’s blood and the mixture of scents hovering around the café. He walked back to the spot where they’d fought the ghoul and dragon yesterday, but it was a roped-off mess. Grant’s body was gone. The smells of dragon, incubus, fur, blood, and magic were everywhere, sickeningly overwhelming.

He grabbed his phone and pulled up Eugene’s number.

It only rang twice before the younger Barnett answered. “I was wondering if you were going to check in again or just vanish,” Corbin said.

“Where’s your father?”

“I’m afraid he’s indisposed at the moment. And unless you’ve got Jory Smith wrapped up in a little gift box, nothing I can do is going to change that.”

“The Hel-born demon lord your father summoned hasn’t managed to deliver Smith either,” he said, scoffing. “Let me talk to him.”

“Demon lord my father hired?” Corbin sounded confused.

“Your father hired that human private investigator, and he summoned me to replace him awfully fast. So who did he summon to replace me? What did he summon to replace me?”

“My father’s dying, Mr. Pelle. He’s awake and aware, but he’ll likely never get out of bed again. When his doctors told him he only had a few weeks left at best, that kid managed to make him healthy enough to walk again. The brat healed him once before, and he’s not willing to give up and die just yet. Not while there is any chance he could live. Can you really blame him for bringing in every resource at his disposal?”

“When one of his resources thinks it’s fine to unleash a fucking dragon in a human city?” he asked, knowing that wasn’t entirely fair. The dragon had cut Louise up, but it had tried to strangle Jory rather than crush or cremate him, so the dragon had obviously been trying to be subtle.

“A dragon?” Corbin sounded like he was laughing.

“Yes, a dragon. Keeping whatever else your father was stupid enough to summon from destroying a human city wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Delivering Jory Smith was the deal,” Corbin snapped. “And you’ve proven to be just as incompetent as Detective Grant. I don’t know who else my father would hire, but I know he doesn’t have time to wait for results.”

“Mr. Barnett, your father is a lot of things. He’s ruthless, brilliant, and one of the most frightening humans I’ve ever met. But I know he wouldn’t have agreed to something like this. He’s a lot of things—good and bad—but he’s never been tactless or stupid.”

“I don’t think you realize quite how desperate the situation is. There’s nothing he won’t do to make this happen. I’m sorry if he brought in someone you feel is less than discreet, but there’s nothing I can do about it. My father has become so obsessed, so paranoid, that he won’t even see me. The last time I tried to talk him into giving up this nonsense, he accused me of conspiring to keep Jory Smith from being found, all so I could kill and overthrow him.”

“Overthrow him?”

“Archaic, I know. I tried to remind him that we have a board of directors and shareholders, but he didn’t even seem to remember that Barnett Holdings exists as anything but his own personal kingdom.”

“That’s a bit paranoid,” Mal hesitantly agreed. “More than usual, anyway.” Decades ago, when Mal had pointed out that Corbin was a self-interested little shit, Eugene had laughed and told him that he’d made sure no one in his family would see a single cent of his money if he died of anything but natural causes. He’d said it like a joke, but if the suspicions were there years ago, it wouldn’t take much for a persuasive demon to convince Eugene that his son really was out to get him.

“As soon as he started working with Luhmann, he let our business grind to a halt. He’s not taking anyone’s calls anymore. Plus, he’s completely disinherited me and revoked my power of attorney, so I can’t even act on his behalf long enough to order him takeout. I’m afraid I just can’t help you.”

“What if I can help you?” he asked, thinking fast. “Not everything supernatural is quite as much fun to work with as I am. It’s possible that whatever your father summoned is feeding his paranoia, that just being exposed to its aura is going to hurt him. If he won’t see you, do you think he’d see me?”

There was a long silence before Corbin sighed. “And how, exactly, would you seeing my father help me?”

“If I can find out what your father made a deal with, I can find a way to break their contract. Once he’s away from its influence, away from that miserable con Luhmann, the paranoia should get better. No one ever wants to accept that they’re going to die, but Jory Smith can’t heal your father again. If the demon your father’s working with now has told him anything different, it’s misinformed.”

“You… do you really think you might be able to get him to listen?” Corbin sounded honestly hopeful.

“I will do everything I can to get through to him, I promise you I will. Is he still in Minnesota, or has he gone home to New York?”

“Neither, actually. He’s dragged that minister to a town called Missoula.”

Mal’s stomach sank. Eugene knew exactly where Jory was.

“You’re in Missoula too, aren’t you? He said you were.”

“Where is your father?” Mal demanded.

“You won’t even get close to him without me,” Corbin warned. “I’m on my way west, but I should be able to get there by tomorrow. I’ll take you to him then. But what if you can’t help him? And won’t you be breaking your contract either way?”

Mal took a deep, trembling breath. Eugene hadn’t forced him into a blood contract, but the old treaties and laws that governed interactions between the worlds—when humans still remembered magic and fae blood still flowed strong within some of them—couldn’t be ignored.

He’d have to pay the price. Particularly if the only way to end the threat against Jory’s life was to kill Eugene himself.

“Text me when you reach the city,” he said, and hung up.