Chapter Twenty-six
Baxter
Jamie’s house was dark and silent. I’d made a half-hearted attempt to stop Lake from coming with me, but hadn’t put up much of a fight when he’d insisted.
Standing there now, surrounded by shadows and a hundred potential hiding places along the residential street, I was grateful he was with me.
It was harder to sneak up on two people, right?
At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
We stood across the road, surveillance seeming like the sensible first step. Only, I wasn’t entirely sure what we were supposed to be looking for.
“No lights on,” Lake said.
“No.”
“No movement.”
I shook my head.
“So, what now?”
I pulled out my phone and called Jamie. I’d already tried three times on the way over. Like every other attempt, it went straight to voicemail.
“Maybe we should call the police,” Lake suggested, eyes still fixed on the house.
“And say what?”
“Tell me again exactly what he said.”
“That someone told him to call me. He didn’t say who. He didn’t say why. Just that he had to.”
“And he sounded scared?”
“Not just scared,” I said quietly. “Terrified.”
“Maybe he was on something,” Lake offered. “Drugs. A bad trip.”
“I don’t think so.” And neither did he. I could hear the lack of conviction in his voice.
I stepped forward, intent on crossing the street. Lake caught my arm and hauled me back. “What are you doing?”
“We have to check.”
“What if it’s a trap?”
“Then I'll find out who’s doing this,” I said. “Someone’s been playing with me—the calls, the man outside my flat. I want to know who it is.” I tugged my arm free. “You can stay here if you want.”
“I’m coming with you.”
It was impressive how someone could sound both fiercely protective and deeply annoyed at the same time.
I stopped in front of the door, my heart pounding.
Lake shot me a questioning look, and I mimed listening for thoughts inside.
He nodded, somehow understanding my terrible mime.
Lake’s thoughts bled into mine: worry about how this would end, with a bit of history thrown in to make him feel better because it was Lake.
Florence Nightingale, this time. I had no idea what she had to do with anything.
Fainter still were the thoughts of a neighbor who’d just gotten up to use the bathroom and was wondering what exactly their cat got from following them and supervising.
That was it.
No thoughts came from within.
“Nothing,” I whispered.
Lake pushed the door. It swung open easily, both of us staring into the dark abyss of the hallway.
I’d been braver when I was dead. When escape was as simple as stepping through a wall, fear had little room to breathe.
And it wasn’t like you could lose a life you didn’t have.
Drawing on what resolve I could, I stepped inside.
After a slight hesitation, Lake followed.
I jumped when a bright beam lit the floor ahead of us. Lake shrugged apologetically, his phone held out in front of him. “Sorry.”
“Some warning would’ve been nice,” I hissed.
We moved through the rooms downstairs together. Nothing seemed amiss. No signs of a struggle. Just the usual clutter of a lived-in house. Unwashed dishes in the sink. Cushions in disarray.
That left two choices: leave or go upstairs.
Lake led the way this time, grimacing as the first stair creaked. I avoided the place he’d stepped, managing to stay silent. In a less pressured situation, I would’ve been smug about that.
A door stood open at the top. Still no lights. I’d hoped one might be on at the back of the house. Lake paused in the doorway and swept the room with his phone. The light caught just enough to show that someone lay on the bed.
“Jamie?” I called softly.
No answer.
I guided Lake’s arm back toward the bed. He swore quietly as the light fell across it. Jamie lay there, head lolling at an awkward angle.
Not sleeping.
The room told the rest of the story: a lamp knocked over, a chest of drawers overturned, one curtain almost torn from its rail. No blood, but the discarded pillow beside Jamie told its own suffocating truth.
How long after the call had it happened?
Immediately? Or could we have stopped it if we’d gotten here faster?
Lake backed away. I let him, stepping aside as he passed. “Now we call the police,” he said.
“Wait.”
I covered my hand with my sleeve before flipping the light switch. The bright light made everything worse. Nineteen years might have passed since Jamie and I had been an item, but that didn’t erase the memory of what we’d once been to each other.
And now he was dead. Because of me. I was certain that this was a message. You’re next sprang to mind.
“Wait for what?” Lake asked, confused. “He’s dead.”
“He saw him,” I said, thoughts racing. “He knows who did this. Or at least what he looks like.”
Lake ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in tufts.
“He’s dead, Baxter,” he said gently, as if he thought me, of all people, struggled with the concept.
“There’s no coming back from that. I know you did, but that’s the exception, not the rule.
Most people don’t.” He stopped abruptly, realizing he was rambling.
My eyes stayed on Jamie as I wrestled with the moral dilemma of what was right versus what I needed. “Maybe in your world,” I said. “Mine’s different.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Necromancers.” I already had my phone out.
“And I know three.” The phone rang and rang, Calisto not picking up before it went to voicemail.
I didn’t leave a message, calling Asher instead.
He picked up on the third ring, sounding as alert as ever.
Like he’d been sitting waiting for my call rather than sleeping.
“I need to talk to Calisto,” I said. “It’s an emergency. Can you wake him for me?”
Asher didn’t argue. A murmured exchange followed before Calisto came on the line. “Baxter?” Sleep still clung to his voice.
“I need your help,” I said. “I kind of have a situation.” I launched into as brief an explanation of the last couple of weeks as I could without leaving anything crucial out: the graveyard; the reunion with Jamie; the calls; the man outside my window; and then finally what we’d just discovered.
“Do I need to spell out what I’m asking of you? ”
“No,” Calisto said, followed by silence.
“You could lose your license,” Asher, always the practical one, warned in the background.
I waited, aware of Lake shaking his head. Calisto could go either way. There’d been a time when I could have asked him for anything and he wouldn’t have hesitated. That was before. Before he’d met Asher. Before I’d cut him out of my life for months.
“Text me the address,” Calisto said at last.
Relief slammed into me. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he cautioned. “You of all people know how this works. It’s not guaranteed. Especially now that I don’t have you in the inbetween. Lost people stay lost now.”
“I understand.” He hung up soon after that, leaving nothing to do but wait.
“What are you doing?” Lake asked.
“Bringing him back,” I said. “For a conversation, so he can tell me what he knows.”
“That’s…” Lake shook his head as if he couldn’t quite find the right words.
“I have to,” I said, feeling defensive. I retreated into another bedroom, imagining an accusation from Jamie that wasn’t there and needing to put some distance between us.
It turned out to be a child’s room, with matching Pokemon-themed wallpaper and duvet.
Impossibly sad, given the circumstances.
The window at least offered a view of the street.
Lake voiced the thought we were both having. “Where do you think the husband and kids are?”
“Away,” I said. “He must’ve known. Or gotten lucky.”
Dawn was already brightening the horizon. “I know you don’t understand this,” I said. “But there’s a time limit on bringing someone back, so I had to decide. It might not even work. It doesn’t always.”
“Do you think that’s what Jamie would want?”
I grimaced. It would have been easy to say something glib about Jamie always having been a kind, helpful person, but it would be an excuse.
Something to make me feel better. “Probably not. But it’ll mean he can give me a message for his husband and kids.
That has to count for something. So it’s not just a selfish thing. ”
Lake went quiet after that, his thoughts giving away his own moral dilemma: the battle between knowing he should talk me out of it, or at least trying to, and having a vested interest in finding out more because he knew it would keep me safe.
Thankfully, Calisto’s car pulled up in front of the house only a few minutes later. I tugged Lake down the stairs with me, wishing their first meeting could be in better circumstances.
Asher was with Calisto. No surprise there. The other two men climbing out of the back of the car were unexpected, though. “You brought Griffin?”
Calisto nodded. “You know I’m not good with stuff like this. Griffin’s used to it, what with all the Satanic Romeo stuff.”
“We also thought,” Asher added, “that it might be in all our best interests to have police present at a murder scene.”
Ben—or DCI Weaver to give him his full title—gave a nod. He looked grimly resigned to what he was about to face. But then attending murder scenes in the middle of the night was nothing new to him. “I should talk you out of this,” he said.
“But?”
“I owe you,” he said, his glance encompassing Calisto. “For all the O’Reilly stuff. You were part of the reason I got out of there.”
I shrugged, not sure how much glory I could take for that whole shit show.
Although you could argue that without me, Calisto might never have gained the courage to go to the inbetween and do what needed to be done.
And I had told him where to find the demon instrumental in O’Reilly’s downfall. So maybe I was shortchanging myself.
All four men were staring at Lake. “This is Lake,” I said. “My boyfriend.” I zoned out during the introductions that followed, the atmosphere understandably muted.
Next came a procession up the stairs, Asher falling into step beside me. “I let Cade know what’s going on.”
“When?”
“In the car on the way over here. Calisto drove.”
“You didn’t bring the Porsche,” I pointed out absently.
“Calisto’s car is less conspicuous. Less memorable.”
“True,” I agreed. “What did Cade have to say?”
“Not a lot. I think he’ll have more to say tomorrow when it’s sunk in. I don’t think this is what he envisioned when he told you to sort your life out.”
Griffin went into the bedroom first, closely followed by Ben. “Just like old times,” he said to his husband. “I can’t say I’ve missed hanging out at murder scenes.”
Ben surveyed the room slowly with a practiced air. “What time was the call?”
I checked my phone. “Three minutes past four.”
“And you arrived at?”
“About half past four, I think.” I looked to Lake for confirmation.
He thought for a moment. “It was later than that. The clock in the cab said half past before we got here. But it was no later than a quarter to.”
Griffin was already pulling candles out of his bag, the familiar necromancer routine oddly comforting after seeing Calisto do it so many times.
“You realize,” Ben said, continuing his scrutiny of the room, “how much trouble everyone’s going to be in for this tonight?”
“Including you?” Lake asked.
“Including me,” Ben confirmed. “Contrary to popular opinion, we do have rules we’re expected to follow.
One of those is not taking matters into our own hands.
” He took out his phone and began photographing Jamie.
“He’ll move if he’s revived,” he explained.
“Which is generally frowned upon when it comes to forensic investigation.” He snapped a couple more pictures, then frowned.
Sensing his husband’s sudden stillness, Griffin lifted his head. “What?”
Ben slipped his phone away and approached the bed, his gaze shifting to me. “Please tell me that one of you checked his pulse. That you didn’t just assume he was dead.”
When both Lake and I shook our heads, he swore. He placed two fingers against the side of Jamie’s neck, his expression tightening with concentration.
“Is he…?” I asked. The seconds that followed stretched into an eternity. He couldn’t be alive, could he? We’d stood there watching him for some time, and there’d been no sign of life. No movement. No rise and fall of his chest. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as they waited for Ben’s verdict.
“He’s alive,” Ben said finally. “His pulse is extremely weak, but it’s there. Someone call an ambulance.”
The instruction was unnecessary, Asher already on the phone.
I dragged in a breath, feeling like it was the first I’d taken in a long while.
Jamie was alive. Relief flooded me, but beneath it lurked a darker concern.
If he didn’t regain consciousness, we’d lose our chance to get the information we needed.
There was no way they’d let us anywhere near him once he was in hospital.
Which made me something of a bastard.
Or maybe just damn scared.