Chapter 11
“Um. Shit, shit.” Malek panicked. He ran a hand around the base of his neck and felt sweat beading there. “That’s not quite how wishes work.”
“Well, I’m not done repeating it.”
“Still won’t work, I’m afraid.”
“Fucking hell.” Caspar sighed forlornly.
He stomped back into his apartment and tossed himself onto the white couch.
His histrionics reminded Malek of a teenager, but considering that Caspar was incarcerated at twenty-one, his actions made more sense.
You couldn’t grow up in prison. You could only be caged, so now…
Caspar still acted like he was a kid. Give him time, Malek chastised. And he’ll be fine.
Malek tip-toed into the apartment, shut the door behind him, and took a spot on the loveseat again. He waited next to Caspar as he seemed to go through the five stages of grief.
“So how the fuck do these wishes work, then?” Caspar asked once he’d calmed down. “Because I’m getting real sick of not knowing who did this.”
“Eight years is a long time to wait for answers, I agree. But—”
“Spare me the lecture. I heard it from Jocasta. Tell me what you can do instead. I didn’t ask to kill the guy who killed them, so I thought I skirted your damn harming others rule.”
“You did, so well done with that loophole.”
“Thanks, my BFF was my lawyer, so I’m good at this.”
Malek tried to hide his smile. “You still asked me to conjure him, and my guess is that you were still going to kill him within minutes, right? You gotta wait longer than that. No murder and death. I don’t deal in those.”
“But others have? In the past?”
Malek waved his hands in the air, not wanting to have this conversation. “Look. Even if I could and would produce someone so you could kill them, I can’t produce the man who killed your parents because we don’t know his name. We don’t even know if it’s a man.”
“No woman is capable of a bloodbath like that. All serial killers are guys, aren’t they?”
“Such stereotypes,” Malek tried to tease. “You know most of the sharpshooters J has are women, right?”
“What? Why should I care?”
“All I’m saying is that women are just as capable of a crime like that as men are. Also, this person isn’t a serial killer. At least, not from the evidence we’ve been given. Two people killed at once, no matter how important or special, does not indicate a serial killer.”
“But it could, right? Because there’s no other way I can see them being killed. No other motive. Has to be a ritual or whatever, you know?”
“Maybe.” Malek gestured to the couch, knowing he could do more good if he was closer to Caspar.
Keep telling yourself that’s the only reason.
As Caspar nodded, he shifted close to the edge and gave Malek plenty of room.
After a moment of silence, Caspar’s story spilled out.
He’d called Jocasta to get answers, but was stonewalled, as Malek had suspected.
“I… I wasn’t going to kill him,” Caspar confessed moments later. “I just wanted to ask why he did this to us. You know?”
“I do know.”
“I just want to know why all this happened. I feel like as soon as I know and understand that, then I can move on. And freedom won’t be so fucking strange.”
“I know,” Malek repeated, trying to remain sympathetic.
“I understand the best I can. But Jocasta wants to be sure that her employees are safe. I guarantee, your case is being prioritized. When Jocasta finds the man—or woman—responsible, she will not let them get away.” When Caspar didn’t seem convinced, Malek added, “She’s not supernatural from what I can tell, but I still wouldn’t mess with her. ”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Rumour has it that she has a power source. Big one.” Malek made a lewd gesture that was also a deep sign of respect. Caspar cracked a smile and lifted a brow. “Nice. You’ve seen that power source?”
“Oh no. I don’t need to see it to know it’s real.”
Both men caught one another’s gaze. A second of recognition passed between them.
Malek’s face grew hot with the memory of their kiss.
He coughed, their gaze broke, and they moved on as if nothing had happened.
Because nothing did, Malek reminded himself.
Nothing should happen. At least not like this.
“So, anyway, I pity your enemies. Who knows what will be able to stop someone like her? But, you know, keep that info close to your chest.” Malek winked and held a finger to his lips. He was relieved when Caspar smiled and mirrored his action.
“I won’t tell anyone. Who do I have to tell, really?”
“You will make friends. It will happen slowly, then suddenly. Like everything happens. Soon you won’t know what to do with so many people who care about you, and who you care about.”
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
Malek shrugged. “I’ve been through shit. Nothing quite like yours, but we all have our stories.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Caspar asked, his voice hitched with panic. After a moment, he chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. “Maybe it does.”
“Good, because you’re not special in your suffering. No one is. And it’s my job to make sure you have fun. Enjoy yourself. Do something good with your freedom, because you’ve worked hard to achieve it.
“I just followed orders. You got me free.”
“Staying hopeful is half the burden, Caspar. I couldn’t have saved you unless you wanted to go with me.”
“Maybe,” Caspar said, still somewhat mopey. “The murders aren’t even all that’s bugging me. I want to know why and how they died, yes, but there’s so much more.”
“What else is there?”
Caspar gave Malek a look. He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean until Caspar slid his hand over his.
Malek was about to reiterate his entire spiel about ethics and whatnot that he’d practiced last night (in between typing up his report and masturbating nonstop, it felt like), but Caspar wasn’t holding his hand. He was pointing at the tattoo again.
“I think I just miss them. I miss stuff like this tattoo that reminds me of them. I have no photos. I have… nothing. Everything was taken and called evidence.” Caspar made a face. “I suppose it still is evidence, but just for another team, huh?”
“It is. But I know where we can find photos for you.” Malek pulled out his phone with his free hand and plugged in the address he’d stared at a dozen times the night before. Caspar groaned before the webpage even loaded.
“Please, no more Citizen’s Brigade news posts about me. I can’t stand it. It’s why I haven’t gone exploring online, either.”
“That’s not what I was doing. I was… ah, here.
” Malek tilted his phone as the page loaded so they could both see the homepage for the ghoul museum.
“The Ghoul of Main Street” was written in horror movie writing at the top, and below it was a photograph of Caspar’s house during a sunny afternoon.
Several tabs at the top listed the hours, mission statement, and press releases—but there was also one for photos.
When Caspar clicked it and scrolled down through his family photos, Malek knew he’d done something right.
“If you’re up for it, I think we should go to your family’s old house. It’s weird it’s a museum now, sure, but I also think it may be nice. Therapeutic, even. Give you some kind of closure before moving on and maybe focusing on your next wish?”
“Man, you’re adamant about those wishes. Don’t I have one thousand and one days?”
“You do. But I aim to please,” Malek said, adding a sly grin. When they locked eyes and both seemed to remember, so viscerally, the night before, Malek moved on. Quite quickly. “You know, most people would have used all their wishes by now. You’re a slowpoke.”
“I prefer careful consumer.”
“Ah. Well. The longer you take, the harder it is for me to connect to you and give you the best version of what you want.”
“Oh. So it’s more like an expiration date than a full-term contract?”
“Exactly. But enough of that.” Malek smiled. “What do you say to a tour?”
Caspar handed back the phone with a shrug. “Jocasta did tell me to get out more and see the tourist traps. And since I’m not into climbing the CN Tower stairs, this seems like the next best bet. So yeah. Let’s go.”