Summoner of Storms

by Jordan L. Hawk

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

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

  And yet I still do not receive it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I don’t know how to be still.”

  Do as I do.

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

  Wait. Do not anticipate, but remain alert.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  It is time.

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

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

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

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

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

  * * *

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

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

  Goddess. Sean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Fuck.” He’d thought nobody noticed.

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

  “Ew!”

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

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

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

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

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

  Gray’s roar sounded from the upper floor apartment.

  Shit! John went to the balls of his feet, torn between rushing inside and covering the exit. Everyone on the block must have heard. People would be calling the cops already. What had happened up there?

  The side door burst open, and Sean ran out. There was no sign of Gray.

  John didn’t think, just lunged out of the shadows. Sean spun, eyes going wide, but John had the advantage. Grabbing Sean by the lapels, he hurled him into the brick wall.

  “What did you do?” he shouted in Sean’s face. “If you’ve hurt Gray, I’ll fucking kill you!”

  Sean snapped his knee up, aiming for John’s groin, but John managed to catch it on his thigh instead. Sean’s face still bore the bruises and cuts from the beating John gave him at RD. Time to add a few more.

  “John, stop!” Sean shouted. “Just listen—I thought he’d come after me—”

  “You would have been better off if he had,” John snarled, and swung a fist at Sean’s face.

  Chapter 9

  Sean managed to twist to one side, and John’s knuckles only skimmed him. A minute later, pain flared in John’s gut as Sean buried a fist of his own there.

  They grappled each other, both trying to get the advantage. They ended up on the ground, Sean on the bottom. John hit him again, this time in the ribs. Sean’s fingers raked John’s face, trying for an eye gouge but missing.

  The world narrowed and turned into a red haze. Red as Caleb’s blood on the floor. Sean had tried to take everything away from John, destroy his entire world. Now, going by the sound of the roar, he’d hurt Gray. John would hit him and keep hitting him until the pain went away, until he couldn’t see Caleb dead on the floor, until—

  Hands closed around his shoulders, heaving him effortlessly up and off of Sean. John shouted and struggled, fighting to get free, until a deep rumble cut through the haze around him.

  “John, stop.”

  Gray’s eyes and nose were reddened, the drying tracks of tears and mucus on his face. He smelled rather strongly of garlic, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

  John sagged in his hold. “Shit. I thought he’d hurt you.”

  “I am fine. Temporarily inconvenienced, but there is no permanent injury.”

  Sean sprawled gasping and panting on the rough old bricks. Tiffany had joined them at some time during the commotion without John noticing. Now she pointed her Glock at Sean’s head.

  “Stand down, Starkweather. We still need this fucker alive.” She gave Sean a cold, predatory smile. “At least for now.”

  * * *

  Caleb stared at the sagging, abandoned house. Night had fallen. Only the sodium glare of streetlights and the neon of the liquor store illuminated the cracked sidewalk, weed-choked space that had once been a garden, and warped boards of the house. The grinding roar of trucks downshifting on I-26 echoed from the great concrete arch of road nearby, accompanied by a faint whiff of exhaust fumes.

  All the places in Charleston Tiffany might have picked, and she’d brought them here. To the house he’d died in.

  “The house where I came to life.”

  Caleb couldn’t argue. And hell...maybe he’d come to life here, too, even if he didn’t realize it at the time. If he’d never ventured here, hunting Gray, he’d be back in Charlotte right now. Stuck in another dead-end job. Scared to have a real relationship for fear his telekinesis would be discovered. Never sticking his neck out, keeping his head down, just drifting through the days.

  Not to say he was a fan of all the blood and screaming. But at least he was doing something now. Trying to make a difference.

  “And you have John and myself.”

  Yeah, yeah. But a surge of affection accompanied the thought. Gray responded, a sensation like a big cat happily rubbing against its favorite human.

  “You are my favorite human.”

  Of all the awful things that came from Sean putting a bullet in his head, there was one moment he still thought about, lying in bed at night. The sensation of Gray wrapped around him, protecting and anchoring him. Of total love, with no conditions or what-ifs. Just someone who loved him exactly the way he was and always would.

  It was nothing he’d expected or looked for. And it was a big reason he agreed to make the possession permanent, because despite all the uncertainty surrounding every other part of their existence, Gray would always be on his side.

  “You okay?” John asked.

  Caleb realized he’d been standing on the sidewalk, not paying any damn attention to his surroundings. “Yeah—just thinking.”

  “About how romantic this place is, since we first met here?”

  Caleb snorted. “Yeah, right. You always take me to the nicest places, Starkweather. Abandoned houses, crime scenes, black ops government bases...”

  John nodded. “True, but at least there’s dinner involved. Admittedly, it’s usually Gray’s idea of dinner, but I don’t want to play favorites.”

  “Now I’m all jealous.” He bumped his hip lightly against John’s. “Seriously, though, it’s a little weird coming back here. But I’m okay.”

  John’s smile faded. “It’s weird for all of us. The last time we were here, I never thought...well. A lot of things.” He started for the front door, partially blocked by the collapse of the upper balcony onto the lower porch. “Let’s get inside before anyone spots us.”

  Tiffany and Sean went first, her Glock pressed into his kidney to keep him in line. Caleb followed John, ducking beneath the twisted iron staircase and through the door.

  Nothing had changed inside: same moldy wallpaper hanging off in strips, same bare floorboards warped from humidity, same stink of mildew and rat piss. A hole in the ceiling marked where Caleb had fallen through, all the way from the attic three stories up, smashing bones and organs. Dead on the floor, until Melanie’s CPR brought him back.

  Flashes of memory, at first devoid of color or emotion. Caleb’s own face, pale and scared, a silver-plated ax in his hand. Followed by John kneeling in front of them, smiling and saying something reassuring. And his eyes, so blue, the first color in the world.

  “Everything was gray.”

  You know, you can pick another name, if you want.

  “No. John called me this first. It has...value...to me.”

  At least there were a couple of differences to interrupt this little trip down memory lane. Namely Tiffany with her gun drawn, and Sean, now handcuffed to a rusty radiator.

  Tiffany regarded him with a sneer on her face, as if Sean was beneath her contempt. But John...

  John’s eyes darkened with fury, his brows drew low, and he held his arms crossed over his chest. Tension practically vibrated the air around him, like he was one second from beating the crap out of Sean again.

  And hell, John was supposed to be the stable one, right? The one with the self-control, who rolled with the punches and came back with a quote from some damn motivational poster. But in the courtyard, before Gray pulled him off, Caleb had been honestly scared John might kill Sean.

  Not to suggest he gave a fuck about Sean. But if John crossed the line, what would it do to
him? Would he be able to look in the mirror? Or would he turn bitter and angry?

  “We cannot allow him to harm himself in such a way.”

  No. Which meant keeping an eye on John and making damn sure he didn’t do anything he’d regret. When did I become the responsible one?

  “All right, Sean,” Tiffany said. “You, me, and John—we’ve known each other since we were teens. So no fucking around. I ask a straight-up question, you give a straight-up answer. Where is Forsyth shipping the NHEs?”

  Between the beating John gave him on Saturday and the one tonight, Sean already looked like crap. But Tiffany’s question drained all the color from his face, making the bruises stand out even more starkly. “Shipping them? What do you mean?”

  Tiffany took a step toward him, her shoes clicking softly on the wooden floor. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. You were going to tell me where Forsyth is sending the bottled NHEs, not play dumb. Maybe you’d like to repeat yourself.”

  The handcuffs rang against iron as Sean leaned forward. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Let me make it clear,” John said. He crouched down to be on a level with Sean. “You tell us what you know about what Forsyth is planning, or we put a bullet in your skull.”

  * * *

  Sean stared back at John, eyes wide, as if trying to figure out if John really meant it. John returned the stare, forcing himself to meet Sean’s gaze. Telling himself over and over he’d do it.

  He hadn’t been able to pull the trigger the night at RD. But now? SPECTR wanted to kill them all, kidnapped kids, and did Goddess only knew what else. And he was done. Tired all the way down to the bone. Whatever it took to end this nightmare was fine by him. He’d worry about living with it later.

  Sean sagged back against the radiator. “Do it. If you think you have to.”