Chapter 11

 

 

JORY WASN’T crazy about his apartment. It was a dry, warm place to sleep, but it had never felt like home. That was downstairs in the café kitchen. But the kitchen wasn’t the type of place for the experiment he had in mind, and he needed to work fast if he wanted to talk to Neal before Mal got back. He opened his mouth, ready to extend some kind of magical voicemail, then closed it again and shook his head.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he muttered, walking to one of the two dingy windows. He looked down at traffic running along Broadway, watching cars and people moving below, trying to convince himself that some aspect of the world was still normal.

At least doing this alone meant there was no one around to see him look like an idiot.

“Neal, buddy, if you’re out there….” He shook his head, sure this was pointless. “Just so the universe knows, you’re welcome to come into my place any time. And fuck it all, I wish I could talk to you right now.”

He shut his eyes, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did, and he didn’t know why he’d expected anything.

Another ten minutes of pacing around his apartment had him ready to climb the walls, so he headed back downstairs.

He carefully checked the alley, watching both directions for a minute to make sure it was empty. The only signs of life were a small tabby kitten chasing a plastic grocery bag, and Louise, sitting between the back door of the café and the door that led to the apartments upstairs. She looked like a pug again, but that wasn’t as comforting as he expected. She didn’t growl or bark at him, but her gaze followed him all the way to the door.

As he reached for the handle, he felt the wind shift behind him.

“Kid….”

Louise snarled, not the little noise she managed with pug-sized vocal cords but the stomach-dropping sound he’d heard yesterday. Jory spun and lunged toward Neal, trying to shout. For a moment the world around him faded to the same dull gray he’d found himself trapped in yesterday morning. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, the real world snapping back into place around him. He cut Louise off before she could attack.

“No!” he shouted, bracing himself between them.

Louise managed to twist in midair, rolling to the side rather than tackling him. She got back to her feet, growing larger as a mixture of fire and shadows leaked from her jaws.

“Stop it! He’s a friend!”

She bared her teeth and growled.

“Don’t give me that shit, I know you can understand me,” he said.

She growled an octave lower and tried to stalk around him.

He brought up both hands placatingly. “Stop. Neal’s….” He turned back toward his friend. Whatever he was going to say died in his throat. “Carrying the dragon.”

With a huff, Neal dropped the man-sized creature onto the asphalt. This time there was no shell of golden skin to disguise what it actually was. Jory stepped back a little, torn between terror and captivation at the sight of the beast. In the sunlight, its black scales glittered as if they were covered in glass. It looked more like a diamond-encrusted bat than a creature straight out of mythology, except that its head was distinctly reptilian and its teeth, overhanging its muzzle by almost six inches, were blackened but still obviously sharp.

Neal dusted off his hands. “You can’t leave him like this.”

“He tried to kill me!”

“And you ripped his soul to pieces and scattered it to who the fuck knows where. I think that makes you even. Jory, he needs help.”

“I should heal him so he can stand up and kill me? No, I don’t think so.”

“He can’t possibly hurt you, even if he wants to. It was bits of your soul that revived him, and giving it to him tied his soul to yours. He can’t defy you, but he also can’t slink back to Hel and hide until he’s healed. If you leave him like this, he’s going to die. I know you were defending yourself, but condemning him to this is just cruel.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Either help him or put him out of his misery!”

Jory stared at Neal, shame building inside of him. He’d never heard Neal upset, never heard him shout about anything. But as he stared at the stricken dragon, he was pretty sure he deserved Neal’s rage.

“What can I do? I didn’t keep any of his energy. Holding on to it burned. And I gave Louise everything I could spare.”

“Food,” Neal said simply. “Is there anything in there that you made from scratch?”

“I….” He did make cookies last night, before the ghoul attacked and the world as he knew it fell apart. “Hang on.”

Behind him, Louise snapped her jaws. He jogged up the back steps, doing his best to ignore her.

Fortunately, the kitchen was empty. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Selma why he was back at work and why there was a dragon dying behind the building. The cookies he’d spent so many hours making the night before were still on top of the cooling rack, so he took the entire tray down, grabbed the leftover eclairs from the cooler, and went back out.

“I don’t see how food is going to help,” he admitted. “I mean, I know Mal said that all he’d need to feel better is a breakfast burrito, but between him and Mal…. There’s no comparison.”

Neal rolled his eyes and reached for one of the eclairs. He held his hand over it for a moment, then grabbed a cookie instead. Neal crouched down, pried the dragon’s mouth open, and shoved the cookie inside whole. The creature’s jaw moved a little, its throat bobbed. Then it reared up, holding itself up on its front claws.

The dragon glared between Neal and Jory.

It was suspicious, Jory could tell. And apparently so could Neal, because he took the entire tray from Jory’s hands and set it down on the ground. The dragon glared at it and then glanced up at Neal.

Neal nodded and sighed. “It’s weird, I know. But this is what he does.” He gestured to Jory’s cookies. “He’s damn near as strong as Asmodeus, and aside from being half incubus, even he doesn’t know what the hell he is. All I know for sure is that he gives bits of his power away by the dozen.”

“What?” Jory gaped at him.

“Don’t ask me, you’re the one who does it.”

“What?”

The dragon’s long tongue slipped from between its jaws and drew in the pastries in seconds. Once it had swallowed them all, its body began to twitch and twist, contorting itself at impossible but unfortunately familiar angles.

Jory closed his eyes, remembered the visible lines of muscle and tendons in the mess of body parts each time he’d seen Mal change. When he heard the dragon, once more a man, panting on the ground, he risked looking again.

He’d shifted back into the man with the golden skin, dark hair and eyes, and black retractable claws.

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” he asked angrily.

“I’ve been all kinds of things I’m not proud of, but I’m not a killer. Why did you attack me?”

The dragon smirked. “Did I? That filthy corpse eater was supposed to be more than sufficient to kill you. But then, you were supposed to be human. I was curious.”

“Uh…. Yeah, I don’t know the script for this,” he announced. “Why was the ghoul trying to kill me?”

“Because Lord Samael agreed to kill you in exchange for unfettered access to this realm and a human servant to be his vessel. And before you ask, I don’t know the name of the sorcerer.”

“Contract?” Jory wanted to laugh. “He’s what… some kind of demon assassin?”

The dragon cocked his head to the side. “Lord Samael is a prince of the Eastern Kingdom of Hel, servant of Oriens. He’s no lowly assassin.”

Jory ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “Why should I care what his day job is? This guy signed a contract promising to kill me in exchange for something! That’s the fucking definition of an assassin!”

The gold-skinned dragon began to shake, pushing himself up onto his knees. The shaking erupted into a deep, delirious laugh that echoed around the alley as he slumped back onto his ass. “Day job?” he cackled. Neal, arms crossed, was obviously trying not to laugh too.

Jory tapped his foot as he waited for the dragon to stop laughing at him. “Done?”

Smiling, the dragon took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good. What am I supposed to call you, anyway?”

“My name is Keygan, Lord…?”

“Oh no. Jory. Just Jory. I’m a pastry chef.”

Keygan looked dumbstruck. “Pastry chef?”

“Yeah. I make bread, pastries, and desserts. They’re sold right in there,” he said, cocking his thumb back toward the kitchen. “Pastry chef. And sometimes a cashier.”

“A menial laborer? Who could possibly press you into service?”

“Nobody has to. I get that things are different where you’re from, but this is what I enjoy. If it weren’t for your psycho boss trying to kill me, I’d do whatever it took to keep this gig forever.”

“It’s true,” Selma said, so close behind him that he jumped. “Half the time I have to kick him out of the kitchen when I get here in the mornings, otherwise he’d never sleep. Even when he’s been strangled and sliced to pieces, he chooses to sort out cookies and eclairs so he can host the forces of Hel on my back steps.”

“I….” Jory stumbled away from her, her anger palpable. “It’s just…. He was hungry.” He pointed accusingly at the dragon.

“Where is the hellhound who swore to me that he’d stay and protect you?”

“Would you believe he’s proactively protecting me?” he suggested. “And he left Louise here.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and grinned, a strained expression that looked more hostile than anything. “What about the dragon and the… whatever he is?”

“His name’s Neal. And the dragon’s kind of stuck here.”

“Jory bound him,” Neal explained. “He can’t leave unless Jory releases him. And he can’t hurt anyone if Jory forbids it.”

“You were serious about that?”

Neal nodded gravely.

He stared at Keygan, shocked and ashamed. “You and the ghoul didn’t have any choice about killing me, did you?”

“I didn’t kill you.”

“You tried.”

“I didn’t.” Keygan rose to his feet, his limbs shaking. He held out one mostly human-shaped hand and curled his fingers. His claws extended with the motion. When he opened his hand again, they retracted. “It takes effort to hold something fragile and not puncture it. I had to try not to kill you.”

Jory stared at him, his eyes narrow.

“Lord Samael’s ghoul reported that you were a demon, commanded hellhounds here on earth, and cast an enchantment over the entire area to obscure your location. Lord Samael assumed the fool was lying. He sent me to earth to give the ghoul a chance to prove his words were true, and to kill him when he failed. Lord Samael’s contract was to bring about the death of the human known as Jory Smith. If I’d returned to Hel with no more answers than the ghoul, I’d have been tortured for being just as worthless.”

“They treat you like hellhounds,” he said, thinking about the way Mal had described his clan’s subjugation.

If Keygan had been human, Jory would have guessed he looked sad. “Hounds have no idea how lucky they are. They are allowed to run, to hunt. They’re allowed to mate, to breed, to form clans and families.”

Neal fidgeted next to Keygan.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Jory asked Neal. “You guys keep people like Mal on a leash and people like Keygan on a choke chain.”

Neal shook his head quickly. “Jory, they’re—”

“People,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. He stepped toward Keygan and set his hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t know it could. The only thing I’m telling you to do is never hurt me or my friends. Other than that… you can do whatever you want. I don’t know how to get you back home, and it sounds like it sucks anyway, but if that’s what you want, I’ll try to figure it out. Selma?” Jory asked, turning toward his boss.

She sighed dramatically. “Fine, come inside—coffee and sugar fix everything. Jory, hon, do you have any pants that might fit him?”

Wind rushed past his cheek, air filling the void left where Neal had been half a second ago; then it shifted back the other direction. Neal stood there holding a new pair of slacks and a pack of white undershirts, all with the tags still on.

“Why do I give you money and clothes?” Jory asked incredulously.

“Because you’re a decent guy?” Neal suggested.

Selma glared at him, then yanked the clothes out of his hands and began to pull the tags off. “You’re both welcome to stay if you need to, but you will be respectful in my café. You will behave around my daughter, my employees, and my customers. Or else.”

Neal chuckled, his face transforming into the sexy grin that always annoyed Jory. “Or else?”

She stared between them both intently. “Everything burns. Eventually.”

“And I won’t feed you again,” Jory added, small threat though it was.

Once they were inside, he grabbed a folding chair for Keygan before he could collapse, then pulled on an apron and started digging through the cooler.

When Selma shoved a cup of coffee at him, she glanced meaningfully at the eggs and butter in his hands. “Please let me?” Jory begged.

“Jory….”

“Two nights ago I walked out that door to discover that not only was I not in Kansas anymore, but that Kansas had been a naive illusion for my entire life. This….” He gestured at the mound of ingredients in front of him, only realizing that he was shaking when he looked down at his own hands. “This is what I do. It’s the only thing that helps. I’ll deal with the ghouls, dragons, and demons eventually, but for now I need to do something that I know is real.”

She sighed in defeat.

“Kansas?” Keygan looked between them all, obviously confused.

“Don’t worry about it. I just need to do something to clear my head. I didn’t know about any of this yesterday. A week ago I thought demons were bullshit stories used by cons to rob people blind.”

“He never knew he’s a demon,” Neal translated. “He grew up human.”

Selma stared, her eyes wide with surprise. “But you’re—”

“An incubus, or so I’ve been told. I didn’t know. I still have no idea what that means, except that everyone I’ve ever slept with was probably seduced by some kind of fucked-up magic, so I’m doomed to being celibate or being a real-life monster. It took killing three of Mal’s hellhound forms to heal a few cuts on my back, and it was so much easier than healing someone else ever was. And if I meet another demon who’s hurt, I get to choose between letting them die or enslaving them. Which means that Mal is probably only—” He stopped that thought cold. He closed his eyes, the full weight of his existence making his stomach tie itself in knots.

“It’s true that we have our charm. But our enchantments don’t work on other demons,” Neal said casually. “We can totally kill them, if we can contain their power. But we can’t seduce them unless we do it the old-fashioned way. Even with humans, all we can do is lower a person’s inhibitions about as much as a couple of beers.”

“It doesn’t induce lust or something like that?”

“Nope.”

A weight on his chest he hadn’t realized was holding him down seemed to vanish. He began to dump out scoops of flour onto the table, grateful for the rhythmic motions and the familiar, soothing sensation of a loose dough forming under his fingertips.

Selma’s mouth still hung open. “You really didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Oh, Jory, hon,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “You’re not a monster. You couldn’t walk more than twenty feet without having to stop to catch your breath when I found you, but you didn’t use anyone to make yourself feel better. You’re a good person, Jory.”

“I didn’t know I could use other people. Restraint isn’t the same thing as ignorance,” Jory said, even though it wasn’t entirely true. He never planned on doing it again, either way.

“You don’t see me wandering around committing arson, do you? When I was a little girl and I didn’t know what I was, I still didn’t go around starting fires. And believe me, if someone is a genuine pyromaniac, they can manage with a lighter—no ifrit magic required.”

“But you don’t set out to hurt people,” he almost whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve hurt a lot of people. I haven’t drained their souls, but I’ve done some shitty things.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what kind of life you’ve had, but when you came to us, you were out on the streets starving and half-dead. Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve had to do to survive….” She shook her head harder. “Well, you have to own that. But doing something wrong doesn’t make you a monster, Jory, it makes you human.”

“But I’m not human, am I? None of us are.”

She rolled her eyes. “A person, then.”

He relaxed a little, quietly hoping she was right.

“You don’t even know how you killed me, do you?” Keygan asked, not meeting his gaze. “You can’t fix me.”

He moved on to a new pan, trying to figure out a way to explain the empty gray surrounding them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened exactly. I felt like I was caught in the fire instead of holding on to it, and then there were a thousand fireflies around us, and they…. They were right there. I just let the shape of you break. I thought all the bits would just become more little fireflies, but it didn’t work that way. They kind of absorbed all of the energy I gave away, a bit to each little flash.”

“Fireflies?” Keygan cocked his head to the side. “The cloud of power in the ether, you mean. The humans who are bound to you. I can’t believe that the corpse eater was telling the truth….”

“The what now?” Selma looked confused. “What cloud? What humans?”

“It’s like a spider’s web,” Keygan said, looking just as lost. “Thousands of human souls, all connected by demonic magic, are around this city. The power they’re carrying connects them all and hovers over everything. It’s like a dense cloud that is impossible to see through. Even the distant descendent of an ifrit should be able to sense it.”

“She’s part of it, and it’s been built up slowly, so I doubt she noticed a thing,” Neal added. “Back at that church, it was hopeful of all things. Here it’s like a protective wall, like Jory dropped a shell of power over the entire valley to keep any threat away.”

“But this Samael dick still tried to kill me twice.”

“Yeah, but he failed. That ghoul could hardly move the body it had taken,” Neal said calmly. “Even your antisocial hellhound couldn’t function when he showed up.”

“He’s not antisocial. And he’s not mine. Not unless he wants to be, anyway.”

 

 

WHEN MAL rushed in through the back door, just after Jory tossed his sixth square of laminated dough into the cooler and began to mix up a massive batch of cookies to help put a bit more life into Keygan’s spirit, he looked frantic. He stopped, going pale as he saw Neal and Keygan slouched in cheap folding chairs by the far wall.

“What is the dragon doing here?” he asked, thankfully not attacking.

He reached for Jory instead, and Jory was more than willing to lean into him. “Not dying. He’s hanging out until he’s strong enough to leave.”

Mal stared at Keygan, his expression hard to read. “You’ve bound it?”

“Him. His name’s Keygan. And this is only a temporary thing. Did you find anything?”

“The ghoul is dead, or it might have moved on to a new host.” Mal ran his fingers through his hair, and his hands were trembling. “I tried to go through the host’s wallet, but a cop saw me and thought I was trying to rob him. I saw his ID, though. The host was a human private investigator from Minnesota. He had a Rochester address.”

Jory closed his eyes, shivering as his body conjured physical memories of tar and putrid sickness. His lungs felt like they were seizing all over again, as if he were back touching that old man’s dry, weathered skin. He shook his head, trying to clear the sudden tunnel vision.

Adam had found an actual demon to hunt him down. It seemed impossible, but he’d known about Jory for years, so he knew that the supernatural existed, but Adam would never summon a demon to kill him.

He was no use to Adam if he was dead.

“Shit,” Neal cursed, pushing himself off the counter. “Kid, are you okay?”

When Neal reached out to touch him, Mal wrapped his arms around Jory’s shoulders. “He’s mine,” Mal growled.

The panicked tone brought Jory out of his own terror. Mal was swaying so badly Jory was surprised he didn’t fall over.

“Mal, what’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath, leaning his forehead against Jory’s shoulder. “The demon ordering them around is working with a human sorcerer. The guy’s contact information was scribbled on a sheet of paper in the detective’s wallet, so I’ve got a name. If I track him down and kill him, I think it’ll void the contract and then whatever he summoned will have to go back to Hel. It should keep you safe.”

“Adam,” Jory whispered. In the silence of the kitchen, it was the only sound.

Mal reached up and cupped Jory’s cheek and nuzzled his neck. “I’m sorry for storming in here. I just got worried, and I needed… I need to know you’re safe.”

Despite all the shit Adam had made him do, thinking about someone killing him, about Mal killing him, left Jory nauseated. But Adam wanted him back, and he was willing to hurt so many people in the cross fire. That didn’t feel right either, mostly because Adam couldn’t make any money in the process.

Adam might conceivably be worried that Jory would turn him in. But even if he could convince the police to believe him, Jory couldn’t see any way that what Adam and Eugene Barnett had done to him could be considered a crime. And Adam had delighted in pointing out that Jory was a part of everything at New Life Ministries, so if Adam went down, Jory would too. Adam knew Jory couldn’t go to the police.

“I don’t believe it,” he admitted. “If he’d been capable of summoning and commanding some high-ranking demon, Adam would have found a way to exploit it years ago.”

“Exploit… a demon lord?” Keygan asked, drawing out each syllable.

“Oh yeah. When it comes to manipulating people for fun and profit, Adam prides himself on being one of the best.”

Adam wouldn’t go to crazy supernatural lengths to kill him, though. Eugene Barnett, however, might. He’d ordered his son to hold a gun to Adam’s head before, and even if it had all been a con, Adam had looked terrified.

“How do contracts like this work?” Jory asked.

“Just like any human contract, except they’re magically binding. One side gives or does something in exchange for something else. Traditionally, the soul of the sorcerer, but that’s typically when the sorcerer has nothing to lose and wants nothing but vengeance. Now, they’re usually for access to earth and material possessions like weapons, technology, and servants. The contract is nullified if the sorcerer dies before the contract terms can be fulfilled,” Neal explained, looking at them strangely before his gaze settled on Mal. “Of course, there’s usually a clause preventing the demon involved from harming the sorcerer to get out of the contract. If the demon who’s a party to the contract kills the person who summoned him, he dies.”

Mal’s arms tightened around Jory’s shoulders.

The emphasis Neal placed on the last word seemed out of place. Jory had worked for Adam, but they’d never had any kind of formal agreement about it. And demonic contracts didn’t seem like the type of thing you could stumble into.

“Would dying for a moment count? Like how the chain stabbing through Keygan’s chest broke when I killed him?” he asked. Then he gently smacked himself in the forehead. “That is a combination of words I never thought I’d end up saying.”

“Wait, you actually killed a dragon?” Mal asked, looking horrified.

“I didn’t let him stay dead!” he cried. “And now I’m making him cookies! That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Neal said, grabbing the cookie dough bowl before Jory could deal with it. He plopped a spoon into it with a clang and handed it to Keygan.

“I never would have imagined food might help. Thank you,” Keygan said, taking the bowl with a hint of a smile. “As for the contract, I don’t know. The contract is void if the demon who makes it kills the sorcerer, or causes them to be killed. Bringing him back doesn’t change the fact that he died.”

Jory swallowed. “There has to be another approach, then. To end this contract, I’d have to kill Adam. What was your boss’s name… Samael?”

Keygan nodded.

“He can’t just back out since I’m not human?”

“He won’t. He wants access to earth because he is hunting far more powerful enemies. They’ve stayed hidden by concealing their power and cutting themselves off from the ether, so knowledge of the modern human world, power in the human world, is necessary to find them. It was sheer chance that tracking your guardian led him right to the location where the summoner was working.”

“Trail? Guardian?” Jory asked. Neal squirmed and lowered his gaze, wilting under the look Jory gave him. “He’s hunting you.”

Neal looked uncomfortable. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Definitely?” Neal tried again. “I was sent here to keep an eye on you when you were born, but walking away from shit in Hel is difficult.”

“When I was born? I found you behind a Walmart!” Jory yelled. “Totally shitfaced and living behind a Walmart! What would I need with a guardian at twenty?”

“Technically, I found you. And I was there because the melody was going to stop. Up until then, you were fine.”

“I—” He stopped, considering the course his life had taken. He’d always managed to survive, even if it hadn’t been fun. The only time he’d been in any real danger was when Adam had tried to kill him. “I was. That’s fair. But still, where were you for twenty years?”

“I got distracted,” Neal explained. “I could always hear you, but the heartland is boring. Missouri was okay, but those cornfields in Minnesota are more dull than every kingdom of Hel, and I’ve been to all of them.”

“You….” Jory looked at him again. “There’s no friend who warned you I was in trouble. It was you. You’re the one who sees what’s going to happen. Or hears it, I guess. And this demon assassin guy needs access to earth, needs human help, to find you. Adam is going to help him in exchange for me. Why is he bothering?”

“Partly because the music is everywhere. Everything. And it never stops. I can shut it out if I get drunk enough, but only for a few hours. My strength is a fraction of what it was in Hel, but the music doesn’t care how strong I am. I can hear anyone I’ve got a connection to—no matter what realm they’re in, however far away they are, I can always hear their melodies. And when I can sort through the noise, I can hear everything else.”

“You’re a bard,” Jory said, remembering Selma’s off-hand comment. “A fae bard.”

Mal scowled. “But he’s an incubus. He’s one of the strongest incubi I’ve ever seen. There’s no way he’s…. No. The species aren’t even compatible.”

“I’m just an incubus, thank you very much,” Neal said, grinning.

“Liar,” Mal said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Mostly incubus, then. Chalk it up to sharing a common ancestor. There are no fae anymore,” Neal said. “Fae gifts always tended to be easily exploited and profitable, and since they had nowhere to go to escape from earth, they’re nearly extinct.”

“You should have gotten away,” Jory said. “This Samael guy is after you. Adam might have struck a bargain to help him in exchange for dragging me back, but he wants you. You’ve got to run.”

“Don’t be stupid, kid. As soon as he figures out what you are, he’s going to be after us both.”

“Because we’re nearly extinct?” Jory asked, crossing his arms.

“Nearly. But also because we’re both valuable. The entire fucking world screeches in my head unless I pound it into submission with a liquor bottle. I will always be able to find the two people in the universe who can challenge Samael’s attempts to start his own little kingdom in Asmodeus’s place. You’ve adapted two very different powers, so there is no limit to the amount of energy you can draw, which makes you one of the most potent weapons he could hope to acquire. But we’re incubi, so he’s stuck. He can’t bind us, he can’t bend us to his will—all he can do is manipulate, torture, and maim us just like anybody else.”

“You drew him here, though,” Mal growled. “You’re the reason he knows Jory exists!”

“I didn’t know Samael was involved,” Neal said, rolling his eyes. “But I couldn’t have just let him die. Yes, he’s in danger because of me, but isn’t being in danger better than being dead?”

Jory glanced down toward the door, where Louise was still rigidly watching them, and felt a pang of guilt. Mal and Louise had never meant to get involved in any of this, and they’d already endured too much on his behalf. They barely knew him, but they had fought to protect him. Neal had put himself directly into the path of the demon lord who was hunting him to save Jory’s life, and he’d never asked for more than snacks in return. Knowing that the snacks were essentially laced with demonic energy took some of the nobility out of that gesture, but he was still touched.

“You’ve got it wrong,” Jory said, looking up at Mal. “My life isn’t in danger because of him. It’s the other way around. All of you are in danger because of me. I can’t let this keep happening.”

He couldn’t let Mal or Louise get hurt protecting him again any more than he could risk Selma or Hana. And as long as he was still in danger, Neal would be close by. To keep them safe, to give Neal a chance to escape, he had to deal with this himself. A powerful demon sending pawns from another world against him wasn’t a problem he could tackle. He had, however, spent years dealing with Adam, tempering his plans and mitigating the damage afterward. Adam he could handle.

“Don’t be dramatic, kid,” Neal insisted.

“He’s right,” Mal said. “I’m exactly where I want to be. Louise isn’t going anywhere either. Keygan here is honestly fucked, but the rest of us are with you.”

Jory listened, because he knew just how much strength people could find in blind hope, even if it was bullshit. Tomorrow he’d figure out how to return to Minnesota. If he happened to have sealed his fate by agreeing to work with Adam, then he’d just have to find a way to fix it without killing him.

He leaned into Mal, enjoying the warmth and strength he radiated while his pastry dough chilled. Selma’s proofing bread made the kitchen smell like yeast and sugar. He didn’t want to lose any of this. When Neal vanished and reappeared with the bottle of whiskey he’d promised Jory, all he could do was shake his head sadly. “I doubt I’m going to have time to figure out whiskey sour cupcakes,” he admitted.

Neal smirked and produced a stack of shot-sized miniature Solo cups—hopefully from thin air, because Jory didn’t particularly want to drink out of anything that had been in Neal’s pockets. “I know cupcakes are your thing, but I need a drink or six, and you need to feel human for a little while.”

“Not human.”

“Yeah, well, nothing wrong with spending the night pretending.”

“Is this really the time to be drinking?” Mal asked. “Who knows what’s going to attack next.”

“Humans drink for every occasion,” Neal announced, filling each shot glass. “To forget about their fear or heartache, to mourn the fallen, and to celebrate everything. Sometimes humans have the right idea.”

“Getting him not to drink is a losing battle,” Jory told Mal. “Neal has gotten completely shitfaced to celebrate Wednesdays and the existence of ferrets. This”—he gestured to Neal—“is the closest to sober I’ve ever seen him.”

“Wednesdays?” Mal’s laughter vibrated through him, warming him to his core.

“Fridays get all the love. The other days of the week are neglected,” Neal said, handing Mal a drink while Jory reached for his own. “Have a drink, then follow Selma’s orders and drag him upstairs to rest.”

Jory almost choked on the whiskey. “Are you seriously shooing us away to go have sex?”

“Kid, trust an old incubus on this—getting laid is the best cure for a shitty day. And even for us….” Neal’s gaze settled on Mal. “Life can end all too quickly.”