Raven Chapter 18 Stolen Shirts and Shipping Manifests 216 #4
When I look up at a soft knock, Forrest is staring intently at me, gawking at the pretty books. I try to slide them back with a casualness I absolutely do not feel. His eyes snap to the door the second the books are safe, and I let out a breath, slinking back to my corner chair.
“Mr. Hatcher,” A soft, weary voice asks, “do you have a moment?”
For a second, I scrunch my nose, then remember that’s his last name. It makes sense. The guys are the only ones who get to use his first name. Now that I think of it, they’re the only ones I’ve ever heard use it.
“Always, Ms. Thorne. Please, close the door.”
He takes one look at the exhaustion on her face and immediately closes the folder in front of him, giving her his full attention.
The woman—Annie, according to her tag—is human, a senior employee.
She’s not panicked like Evans was, just…
heavy. Like she’s carrying this giant weight that is so enormous it’s visible to the naked eye.
“My brother, he lives in Nevada. There was an accident, and I need to leave to see to his affairs and possibly bring his daughter back with me.” She lets out a shaky breath.
“I’m worried about the clearance to bring a human dependent into the city, and…
my projects. I don’t want to leave them in limbo. ”
My heart aches for her. Which makes me pause, because for the first time, my heart actually feels like it’s aching. Kind of glad I didn’t have a heart when I helped that little girl cross. I’m pretty sure it would have shattered entirely. Right now, this ache is plenty.
Since this company is almost a human sanctuary with how many it employs, tt’s only now, surrounded by their dim light, that I realize the guys don’t just have magic—they’re freaking supernovas.
“Your family comes first. That is non-negotiable.” He picks up his phone.
“I’m having Leandre call you. He has contacts at the best medical facilities.
Use whatever resources you need. Your projects are covered.
” He lowers the phone, his gaze firm. “And we will back your petition. If your unit in our building is too small, we’ll move you.
Please, try not to worry. You and your family will be taken care of. ”
I have to blink away tears, right along with Annie. He doesn’t offer a single empty platitude. He offers real solutions, a lifeline when she has nowhere else to turn. Now I understand the steadfast loyalty, the quiet hero worship in his employees' eyes.
Out there, they're treated as less-than for their lack of magic. But he, a supe who buzzes with enough power to an active volcano, willingly offers them a path to a better life. And then, without a single string attached, he protects it. The enormity of that choice hits me square in the chest.
Sure, he’s a hardass. But apparently, the inside of him is as gooey as the volcano his magic emulates. Or a perfectly baked brownie. I have a feeling he’s just as delicious as one, too. Too bad he won’t let me have a taste.
A little light begins to blink on his desk as Annie stands, and he quickly bids her goodbye and asks her to shut the door behind her.
He waits until the door is firmly shut before tapping his desk console.
A moment later, a voice rasps through the speaker—all hard edges and dropped letters, like the words are being dragged across cobblestones before they reach his mouth.
Apparently, Forrest has put it on speaker.
It’s a small gesture of trust that I grab at desperately.
"Hatch." The voice is rough, unhurried, the kind of drawl that sounds lazy but misses nothing. “Heard you had a spot of trouble with the HMC. Their enforcers have been sniffin’ around the Dockside Market like hounds with a new scent.”
Forrest cocks his head. “The situation seems more complex than I originally thought. I need information. A demon named Asag was spotted in the city. For now, the situation has been contained, but I’ll need eyes on the lookout for when he returns.”
My hands are suddenly slick, my breath catching in my throat. Asag. That twat-waffle. I remember the feel of his essence unraveling under my will. I killed him. So how in all the afterlife realms is he "returning"?
A low whistle sounds on the other end of the line. “Asag? That’s a name I haven’t heard in over a decade. Nasty piece of work. Old school. Last I heard, he was on the West Coast causin’ trouble for the dragons.”
Forrest sighs, “Not anymore. He has moved his operations here and is running unwilling skin.”
The line goes silent before a loud crunch breaks it—probably something getting snapped in half. I wonder if this guy gets along with Anik. That's something he'd do.
"Unwilling skin? In our territory?" A pause. "This connected to the supes goin' missin'?"
“We believe so. Hell’s Bend was where we broke up the last… exchange.” Forrest grits out the final word. “No one seems to have known he was even here.”
“It’s because he’s a ghost. But if he’s back, and the HMC is suddenly interested in your operation… it ain’t a coincidence. It lets ‘em keep their hands clean.” A humorless chuckle. “You starting to see reason, friend?”
Forrest nods. “I believe I am, Rhys. Shame it took me this long.”
The man, Rhys, just grunts. “You still have hope in the system. It’s what makes you efficient within it. Me and my boys don’t have that hope. Doesn’t cloud our judgment like it does yours.”
“Typically,” Forrest grits out, “I would call you on assuming my judgment is clouded. But in this, you are correct.”
Rhys laughs heartily. “I’ll mark the date.
I’ll see what my rats pick up. But this one…
this feels bigger than a simple business dealing.
The HMC wouldn’t muddy themselves with a demon like Asag for a local skin trade.
Something else is going on. Plus, there’s talk of big things headin’ this way.
You and yours watch your backs, Hatch. And don’t forget you owe me a whiskey. ”
A slight smile plays on Forrest’s lips. “How could I ever forget? As always, tread carefully. Tread safely.”
Rhys snorts. “You know I never do. I’ll keep you updated.”
The call ends abruptly, and for some reason, the room seems colder as the weight of what was just said hangs in the air.
"You said he's returning. I killed him. How is that possible?" I ask.
He sighs, "Demons are notoriously difficult to permanently destroy. When killed on the material plane, their essence is forcibly returned to their home layer in the Lower Reaches. They have to piece themselves back together. Essentially, they are re-forming from scratch."
"So we're just giving him a vacation?"
"Not exactly. Every return has a price. The plane demands a toll.
Years of existence. A portion of their strength.
Sometimes a memory or a piece of their identity.
" His lips thin as he takes a beat to think before continuing.
"The more powerful the demon, the steeper the cost. Kill one enough times, and eventually it can't afford to come back. "
I blink. "So we're bankrupting him. One murder at a time."
"Essentially, yes." He meets my eyes. "The good news is, even if he wasn't taken out for good, we still gained new information. He knew you somehow. He was even taken by surprise by your appearance. There's a connection there—we just need to figure out what it is before he's topside again."
I squint at him. "You keep saying stuff like that, but not explaining yourself. What kind of connection? How does a demon I've never met know who I am?"
"How do you know you've never met him?" Forrest's voice is flat and clinical. "You don't remember. Any of it."
The words hit like a bucket of ice water. I open my mouth. Close it. He's right. I don't remember. I can't say for sure.
His eyes meet mine and I can’t look away as he says, "What we do know is that next time, we need to finish it. Permanently. Demons can be unmade, but it requires very specific ingredients—and a great deal of raw power."
"I thought you sent the guys off for more supplies for Silas."
He nods. "I did. They're also procuring what we'll need for the ritual." His eyes haven't moved from mine, and suddenly I'm not sure if I want to scream, cry, or jump him. Maybe all three. Probably all three.
I reach for the crystal pendant—my usual anchor, my go-to fidget—but my fingers find only bare skin. Right. Silas has it. Weird crystal. Tests. More mysteries.
For a panicked half-second, I'm adrift. Then my hand finds my pocket, and I hone in on the now familiar shape of Kieran’s guitar pick.
I pull it out and let it slide between my fingers, that plastic worry stone doing what the crystal used to do.
Grounding me. Or as close to grounded as a ghost ever got, anyway.
It's different now—the feelings are bigger, sharper, more physical—but the motion helps.
Giving all this crackling energy somewhere to go.
Thanks, Ki-ki.
"I would need to know how to use my magic before I could try," I say in a desperate bid to get his eyes off of me for a minute. When he doesn't look away, I can't help but squirm a little. I swear I see a little satisfied gleam cross his eyes before the stone mask is firmly back in place.
He gazes off into the distance, his eyes assessing.
“From what Emerson told me regarding the dream you pulled him into, harnessing your magic is going to have to be done through runes. We’ve come to the conclusion that whatever ritual you went through took a considerable amount of magic.
The runes were more than likely burned into your corporeal flesh via a blood magic ritual.
Even if you didn’t perform it yourself, you survived it, and that means you have the potential to wield magic most can only dream of. ”
“If I don’t kill one of you first, you mean,” I grumble.