by Cari Z
Rio smiled. “She’s got a GPS tracker in her tags. Maria knows how to activate it. If anything went wrong on an operation, Maria would be able to find Maggie. Then she’d send someone to pick her up. Probably you, since you’re the first on my list to take care of her if anything were to happen to me.”
Devon looked dumbstruck. “You’d trust me with your dog? Really?”
“Devon, I trust you with my life. I’d definitely trust you with my dog’s life.”
“Thanks.” His voice was very soft, but Rio could make it out.
“Sure thing.”
“Read me some more poetry.”
Rio looked pointedly around the cab of the truck. “You see a book anywhere, college boy? No, because I have a mind like a steel trap.”
“Then impress me already, Elephant Man.”
“Just for that, you’re getting Shel Silverstein. Nothing but The Giving Tree and A Boy Named Sue for you.”
“I liked The Giving Tree.” Devon smiled a little. “I didn’t read any of his stuff until I was with my dads. I was kind of old for it by then, but.…”
“You’re never too old for it.” Rio quietly began the first poem he could think of, and before he was a hundred words in, Devon was asleep again. Rio did his best to avoid potholes and left the light on just in case the cambion woke up again. If Rio could, he’d let the kid sleep until they hit Oregon.
Devon slept all the way up the coast, and Rio woke him when they were five miles out from the small town of Florence. “Dev,” he said loudly. Touching the kid wouldn’t do any good, not unless he really jostled him, and Rio didn’t want to disorient him. “Devon! Wake up, we’re here!”
“What?” Devon came awake with a start, flailed for a moment and cracked his head so hard against the passenger side window that even Rio winced. Devon didn’t feel it, but he could hear the impact. “I’m going to give myself a fucking concussion before this is over, I know it,” he said sulkily. “Where’s here?”
“Just outside of Florence. I need a guide.”
Devon looked out the window. It was three-thirty in the morning and the landscape was pretty well obscured, but there was a full moon out that did a decent job of lighting things up, and Devon didn’t need much help. “We’re close. The last right before the inlet is Glendale, it should be coming up next. Stay on that until it dead ends, then take the unmarked left. My dads have the house at the end of the dirt road. It’s the only one down there.”
“They like their privacy?”
Devon grimaced. “It’s kind of important when you’re fostering a group of potentially unstable cambions. Everything from the beginning of the dirt road to the lake beyond it belongs to my dads, so it’s all legally private property.”
“They own a lake, huh?”
“One of my dads swims every morning. It doesn’t matter if it’s been snowing outside, he always goes for a swim. My other dad thinks he’s nuts, but he puts up with it.”
Rio took the right onto Glendale. “They sound like good guys.”
“You have no idea. I have no idea; honestly, I would have killed me as a teenager.” Rio could see Devon’s hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. “The thing is, they really love each other. Like, in a way I’ve never seen before. After people are together for a while, the fires usually just burn a little lower, you know? For normal people, that’s what happens. But they’re still crazy about each other, they can’t take their eyes off each other when they’re in the same room, and the way they trust each other is…it’s just strange. It seems like no one should be able to love so hard all the time, like it should be exhausting, but they’re grateful every day for every single second. They give thanks and pray for each other.” Devon’s lips twisted a little. “They pray for all of us.”
“I’m glad someone does.”
Devon turned to look at him. “You don’t believe in God, do you?”
Rio considered it for a moment as he took a left. “I’ve never met God. I don’t go for blind faith in something I’ve never seen, but I’ve seen plenty of things over the years that have left me wondering. And hey, if demons exist, why not a god or two?”
“You’re such a heathen.”
“Everybody’s a heathen to someone else,” Rio said, a little pompously to see if Devon took the bait, but Devon was distracted by the house that they were coming up on. It was a big, two-level place that was set right on the edge of the lake. There was a dock and everything. One car was parked out front, a late-model Chrysler minivan. There was a porch light on, but the rest of the house was dark.
Maggie barked twice. Rio shut off the engine but left the cab light on. “Just a sec.” He opened his door. The night air was cool and moist, such a pleasant change after spending time in Nevada. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the water in the air, then headed around to Devon’s side. He got as far as leaning in to help Devon out before he heard the front door open, followed by the tell-tale sound of a pump action shotgun.
It was so classic that if Rio had been a nervous young boyfriend, he would have just pissed himself.
“Don’t shoot,” Rio called out as he got an arm around Devon’s waist. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Ha-ha,” Devon muttered.
“Tell me what kind of gift is going to make me forget that you’re trespassing.” Rio couldn’t really make out the man holding the gun, just his silhouette against the porch light, but he had an amazing voice. It was a rich tenor, soaring with vibrato even though he was just warning them off. Rio imagined it would practically be a religious experience to hear the man sing.
“Dad, knock it off,” Devon said, holding tightly to Rio’s neck as they stepped away from the truck. Maggie hopped down onto the ground right behind them.
“Devon?” The gun was immediately lowered, and the man was down the porch steps and across the muddy grass to them in moments. He came up on Devon’s other side and puts his son’s arm over his shoulders. “Devon.” His tone was affectionate but worried. “What happened to you?”
“Dad.” Devon moved unexpectedly, throwing his other arm around his father and falling into his embrace. He was shaking and he probably didn’t even realize it.
“Whoa, I’ve got you,” the man said softly. “I’ve got you. Can you walk?”
“Sort of.”
“Then let’s get inside. Your friend—” Rio could see the porch light reflect in the guy’s eyes as he looked at him, a strange reflection, almost red—“can bring in anything you need.”
“Is my dog going to be a problem?” Rio asked.
“Not as long as she’s friendly. Ours is a pretty crowded house.”
“No problem.” Rio watched Devon and his dad walk carefully to the door. The guy wasn’t all that tall, but he seemed plenty strong, helping Devon to navigate the three steps up with ease.
Rio headed around to the back of the truck and grabbed their bags, moving slow and taking his time so Devon and his dad could have a few moments alone. He made sure the tonneau was water-tight , and then clicked his tongue for Maggie. She finished sniffing an apparently fascinating bush and bounded over to him, and they headed over to the house and up the stairs. An extra light was on now, to the right off the front hall, so Rio went that way.
He walked into the kitchen, which was bigger than he’d expected, kitted out with two of practically everything: two sinks, two ovens, even two refrigerators. The floor was a beige tile, utterly forgettable, and the countertops were an off-white marble shot through with grey streaks, but despite that minor banality it might have been the most fascinating kitchen Rio had ever seen. The walls might have been white once, but now every available inch of them, even the ceiling, was painted with scenes that were almost too vivid to be looked at, a strange merging of someone’s dreams and nightmares. There was nothing overtly graphic about it, none of the overly-detailed Doom paintings that Rio had seen in so many medieval churches, but the subject matter was similarly suggestive.
Devon and his dad sat across from each other in two simple wooden chairs. Devon’s knees were spread, and an old brown Labrador sat at his feet, head in his lap. Maggie was interested immediately, of course, and she bounded over to the Lab and started sniffing. The bigger dog hardly even noticed her, but Devon’s dad did, and he looked from his son over to Rio.
Clearly Devon had explained enough to piss him off, because the look the man threw at Rio was far from complementary. His face was sharp but exquisite, which was an odd word to attribute to a man and was made even odder when you factored in that he wasn’t, like Rio had long suspected, a cambion himself. Rio could always tell, and this guy looked and felt purely human to him. His hair was jet black and held back from his face with a rubber band, he sported a thin Van Dyke that was diminished by his current five-o-clock shadow, and his eyes were somewhere between hazel and chestnut. His skin was darkly tanned, and he looked like he was in his early forties. He also looked angry; Rio kept coming back to that, because it bore repeating in his mind.
“Dad.” Devon fumbled for his father’s hand. “Stop glaring at him. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Oh, I blame you both equally, I’m just feeling sorry for you right now,” the man snapped, but his eyes definitely softened as he looked back at Devon. “A deal with a witch. Haven’t I taught you anything?”
“Yes, to do the right thing, which we’re trying to do!”
“Keep your voice down. I don’t want you waking your brother and sister.”
“Wait, just one brother?” His dad nodded and Devon sighed. “Angelo ran again?”
“Em will find him,” his dad said firmly. “He’ll bring him back.”
“I thought that phase was over.”
“He’s only been here for six months, and he’s thirteen. It was hard for you at thirteen, too.”
Devon looked unimpressed. “I was on the streets for most of that year. Angelo’s gone from an okay situation to a fucking stellar one, and he’s still being a little jerk.”
“Don’t spike the wheel and call him names while you’re here,” his dad said. “He idolizes you. Maybe you could talk to him when he gets back.”
“Dad. I’m kind of useless right now.”
“Yet your mouth still works just fine,” was the sarcastic reply. The man turned to face Rio. “I’m a poor parent, obviously, since my son still hasn’t learned that it’s polite to introduce people.”
Devon scowled at him. “Father,” he drawled exaggeratedly, “allow me the honor of introducing Rio Pagani, badass extraordinaire and my professional partner at the moment. Rio, this is my dad, Renard Harper. Call him Ren; he doesn’t mind chihuahua jokes.”
“No one remembers that TV show and you’re not going to remind them of it,” Ren said sternly, but he was smiling. He stood up and offered his hand to Rio. There was no hesitation now. Rio shook and was a little surprised when the guy didn’t try to crush his fingers; he had a surprisingly strong grip.
“I take it you’re the artist,” Rio ventured, gesturing toward the ceiling, where a fresco of clouds transforming into waves stretched from wall to wall. Both sections were filled with mythical and biblical monsters appropriate to each of their elements, and the detail work was incredible. Rio could see every individual scale on the sea serpent’s hide.
“Yes. When I first moved here, it took me a while to get my bearings.” Ren smiled slightly, as if he was remembering something as he spoke. “My husband gave me the house to use as my canvas. I’ve repainted it three times since we’ve lived here.”
“It’s excellent work.”
“Thank you.” He pulled his hand back and looked at Rio appraisingly. “And you’re the Mayhew’s secret weapon. They’ve both mentioned you in passing. Devon has said significantly more.”
“Dad.” Devon blushed, and even if he couldn’t feel it, he clearly knew it was happening. “Could we do this tomorrow? I’m still tired.”
Ren was immediately solicitous. “Of course. Rio, do you want a guest room, or—”
“No!” Devon’s denial was too loud, but then he seemed seriously upset. “No, we’re sleeping together. Right?” He looked at Rio desperately.
“Yes,” Rio said, “we’re sleeping together.” Honestly, at this point, it would’ve been stranger for him to let Devon out of his sight than for them to have their own separate spaces, and he wanted to make this as easy on Devon as possible. Ren didn’t seem fazed.
“Fine. You know where your room is. You could—” He turned, and then stopped in his tracks and looked at the door. It took Rio a second to see the little kid standing there; he wasn’t even tall enough to clear the counters. Three, maybe four years tops. He was incredibly adorable, with big brown eyes and curly blonde hair, and he was wearing Iron Man footie pajamas. He was also a cambion. The allure was there, low level but completely uncontrolled. “Jamie? What are you doing downstairs?”
“Woke up,” the kid mumbled around his thumb. His eyes were wide as he took in Rio, and then he saw Devon and ran forward with a smile. “Dev!” He threw himself against Devon’s side, narrowly avoiding a collision with the Labrador’s head. The dog seemed used to it.
“Hi Jamie.” Devon bent down very carefully and planted a kiss on the little boy’s head.
“You should be in bed,” Ren said. The little boy shrugged, then saw Maggie.
“A puppy!” He reached for Maggie, who was fortunately used to being picked up and didn’t have a problem with it, even when she was enthusiastically squeezed to the kid’s chest.
“Jamie!” Ren stepped in and gently extricated Maggie, then crouched down in front of his son. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just grab animals because you want to play with them. They might bite you. And Maggie isn’t your dog, so you have to ask her daddy before you can pet her.” He gestured at Rio.
A pair of huge, perfect tears welled up in little Jamie’s eyes. The power of his allure strengthened, and if Devon hadn’t been used to it and Rio and Ren weren’t both immune (Rio didn’t know how Ren was unaffected, actually) they might have become be gooey puddles of remorse on the ground. “’M sorry,” Jamie sniffled, looking straight up at Rio.
“It’s okay.” Rio crouched down as too, which still left him looming over the kid, but not quite so badly. He picked up Maggie, who was sitting in front of him expectantly, and held her out to the little boy. “You can pet Maggie. She’s a good girl and she doesn’t usually bite, but you have to be careful with her because she’s so small.”
“Yes sir.” Jamie pet Maggie on the head, and she graciously licked his hand, which made him smile.
“There. Now you’re going back to bed, mister.” Ren scooped up the boy and set him on his hip.
“Can I have a story?”
“You got a story when you went to bed the first time. No double dipping,” Ren said. “But you might get a lullaby if you promise to fall right asleep.”
“From Dev?” Jamie looked longingly at his foster brother.
“Tomorrow night,” Devon said. “I promise.”
“I’ll take him and get the lights later. You two go to bed. Daisy, come.” He patted his thigh, and the Lab reluctantly got to her feet, then padded after the pair as they left the kitchen.
Devon looked…it was hard to say that he looked better, exactly, there wasn’t much “better” going on here, but he did seem a lot more relaxed. Rio hoped it lasted another, oh, fifty-six hours. He helped Devon stand and was surprised to find that his partner actually did a better job of walking here than he had anywhere else so far, maybe because the terrain was so familiar to him. At any rate, he leaned on Rio, but his footsteps were actually pretty stable on the tile, and not even the bump over onto the hardwood floor tripped him up.
“Where’s your bedroom, Dev?”
“At the very end of the hall.” Rio helped him back there, flipped on the light and was stunned, yet again, by the beauty of the room. The walls were painted to look like the interior of a cupola, and the view be
yond the pillars was filled with towers and trees reminiscent of Montefiascone. A queen sized bed stood in the middle of the room, flanked by oak bookshelves completely filled with books, as well as a dresser and mirror up against a far wall. An en-suite bathroom was on the left.
“Nice,” Rio observed.
“Yeah, I was the oldest, so I got the perks,” Devon said, a little smugly. “Everyone else has to share a bathroom. The house is a little less crowded right now, so they haven’t needed to repurpose my room yet.”
Rio gestured toward the bathroom. “Do you need help getting in there?”
“No, I think I can handle it. You should grab our bag; I don’t want Jamie to get his hands on a gun.”
“The guns are either locked up or on my person, Dev,” Rio assured him, but he headed for the door once he saw Devon successfully reach the bathroom. He stopped in the kitchen and poured Maggie some water, then took some kibble out of a Ziploc bag and laid that out as well. “Eat up before Daisy gets it first,” he advised her, and made sure she was eating well before toting the bags to the bedroom.
Rio set the bags out of the way, grabbed a clean t-shirt and a pair of shorts out of his duffel, and changed fast. He should’ve cleaned up, but after fourteen hours of driving and keeping Devon from going batshit in his own skin he was pretty tired himself. He settled for swishing with mouthwash once it was his turn in the bathroom, and he stared at himself for a moment before he turned out the light. Pretty fuckin’ domestic, Pagani.
It had been months since Rio was in a real home, any home, not just his own, and this one was so steeped in the personality of its inhabitants that he should have felt like an intruder, but he didn’t. Strange. He headed back into the bedroom and climbed into bed with Devon, who immediately laid his head over Rio was heart. Neither of them said anything, and after a few minutes they were both asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Devon was surprised to find that he woke up first. It shouldn’t have been surprising, since he’d slept away most of the ride yesterday and didn’t do any of the driving, but he was so used to Rio being the first to wake up that it was strange. Devon was still lying on Rio’s chest, his human pillow as still as a statue even during sleep so that Devon would have the comfort of his heartbeat. He couldn’t feel the warmth of Rio’s skin or the swell of his breath, but he could still hear his heartbeat, regular like a metronome. A really loud metronome. Devon turned his face and pressed a kiss to Rio’s chest, then eased back and contemplated getting up.