Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
GABE
I’m pretty sure Con and I decided he was going to go pick up the boys. Not sure how that turned into me going with Tom.
Oh, wait, that would be because my best friend is a pain in the ass who thinks he knows me better than I do.
Damn him. He does.
I take a deep breath to help dispel my irritation, but it turns out to be a mistake, because in the confines of the car, Tom’s bodywash or whatever smells incredible.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing over. He’s driving, because as he said, his rideshare job allows him to write off the cost of fuel. Plus he likes to drive. It’s no hardship for me to let him get behind the wheel—it gives me time to think.
“Yeah, fine. Just… this whole thing.”
“You mean the end of the world? Honestly, Gabe, I can’t believe you’re worried about that,” he says deadpan.
I snort. “I’ve always been overly anxious about trivial things.”
His chuckle is warm and deep and makes me feel good. I guess I should be taking pleasure in the small things now, right?
“Do you want me to put on some music or an audiobook or something? That way you can just tune out for a bit.”
My smile comes unbidden. “Thanks, but could we just talk? I feel like I need to talk some of this out.”
He shrugs and changes lanes to overtake a campervan. “Whatever you want.” Silence falls between us, and he side-eyes me. “Not sure where to start?”
“God,” I groan. “I’ve got no fucking idea.” I give a frustrated little laugh. “There’s so much crap swishing around in my brain right now, it feels like kitchen sink soup.” Where do I even start with it all?
“That’s the one where you use whatever’s in the fridge, right?” Tom asks, pulling me up before I can begin a spiral of despair.
“Um. Yeah, I guess. Some people have actual recipes, because not everyone understands how different foods work together and how to season them. But it started out as a kind of veggies-are-going-bad-and-need-to-be-used food.” The history of food and cooking is something that’s always interested me.
Not as much as the influence of demonology on medieval society, but it would have been my second choice for my thesis.
“I like the idea of that kind of cooking, but I’m too lazy to do it,” he admits. “Cooking’s fun, but I cook to eat. Experimental cooking is not always edible.”
“Cooking’s a science and an art, but yeah, eating is the best part,” I agree. “Hey, you’re Italian. I’ve always meant to look this up—do you really serve Italian wedding soup at weddings?”
He laughs. “Oh my god, do not ask Nonna that, whatever you do. Her rant on this topic is epic.”
“That’s a no, then?”
“Look, I’m sure some people serve soup at weddings, but what Americans call ‘wedding soup’ got that name because the Italian is minestra maritata—married soup.”
I slowly turn my head to look at him. “That doesn’t clear things up any.”
“Ha, let me finish. It’s called that because it has vegetables and meat in it, and the flavors marry together perfectly.”
I start to chuckle. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I asked Nonna once, when I was young and stupid, and after she lectured me about how bad my Italian pronunciation was, she swore up and down that she’d never been to a wedding where minestra maritata was served, not here or in Italy. But it’s understandable how people got confused.”
“Maybe. Still, I’m guessing two minutes on Google would clear things up, but most people are like me and just don’t bother looking.”
“Meh.” He shrugs. “It’s not an essential fact…
unless you’re a wedding caterer, probably.
Or own an Italian restaurant. Hey,” he changes the subject, “did you and Connor decide whether to tell the other hunters what’s happening?
Because if you need some distance from them, I can spread the word in town, make it difficult for them to stay.
They’d only need to go one town over, but it might give you some breathing room. ”
Is he fucking with me? “You can do that? Chase them out of town?”
“What? No,” he gasps, but it’s totally fake. He’s smirking, and he shoots me a sideways glance. “Why would you say such a thing? We’re a friendly, respectable kind of town, and—”
“Yeah, yeah. Seriously, though, how?”
He drops the mock indignation. “Nothing illegal. I’d pass the word that they were rude to me and Skye, for example.
Maybe also that Kieran asked them not to come back to the estate.
Everyone loves Skye, and my family’s pretty involved in the town, and there’s a lot of respect for what Kieran’s done with the estate since he got here.
If it came out that these strangers had shit on that, people might be a little less friendly.
Their rooms at the hotel might suddenly not be available.
There might not be any tables free when they want to eat out. Stuff like that.”
“Harsh,” I say, but there’s a hint of admiration in my tone. “I didn’t know towns did shit like that outside of TV.”
“It’s bullying.” The words are flat and plain.
No prevarication. “It doesn’t happen a lot here.
Last time was a domestic violence situation.
I hate the idea of doing it to people who haven’t done anything wrong, but my feelings and their convenience come second to you having the space you need right now.
” He doesn’t say “to save the world,” but the implication is there, and all my stress comes back in a rush.
It disappeared while we were talking about soup and small-town vindictiveness, and I hadn’t even noticed.
But, unlike before, it’s not swamping me.
Tom’s asked a question, and I feel like I can answer it.
“I’m good for space. We decided to hold off on making the decision until I have a plan for the barrier.
Then we’ll decide who we need to tell and who we can trust. Connor’s going to keep them distracted in the meantime. ”
“I almost feel sorry for them now,” he jokes, and my mood lightens again.
“I definitely do. Hopefully it’ll only be a few days.” I try to sound positive, but I’m pretty sure I fail.
He’s quiet for a minute, then asks, “Do you mind walking me through it? I still don’t understand how everything works.”
“Ha! I don’t even understand how everything works, and I’ve been learning this stuff my whole life,” I scoff.
“But sure. So, our world runs alongside another one, an alternate dimension, if that makes sense. No matter how well developed our spacecraft are or how fast they can go, they would never be able to travel there because it doesn’t exist in this reality. ”
He blows out a breath. “I’m going to pretend that doesn’t scare the crap out of me.”
“Yep. That’s what we all do. Anyway, this other reality—which some highly creative person way back when decided to call the otherworld—shares an etheric barrier with ours—”
“Etheric?” he interrupts. “That’s like… spiritual energy?”
I seesaw my hand. “Depends on the definition. It’s definitely energy, but whether it has anything to do with spiritualism is up for debate.
Remember that ‘spirit’ also has a lot of definitions.
The most popular one, which was brought into practice by religions, is to equate the spirit to the soul or sense of self and designate it as the link to an afterlife. ”
“And that’s not true?” he asks, and I remember his grandmother yelling at me about how I’ll be damned to hell for all eternity.
It’s a safe bet that he had a religious upbringing, and I don’t want to shit all over that.
Knowing what I do about the otherworld and reincarnation, I’m certain that heaven and hell don’t exist. But that doesn’t mean gods don’t, and if he believes in one, I don’t want to ruin that for him.
“It comes down to terminology,” I hedge. “In the Collective, we don’t equate the soul with being a spirit, because to us, spirits are beings who live in the otherworld with demons. They’re wholly different species from us.”
“Gotcha. So ghosts aren’t spirits?”
“Hell, no. Ghosts are what happens when human bodies die, but the soul and the memories from that lifetime don’t separate.
Usually because the human was stubborn and isn’t ready to move on.
What’s supposed to happen when a person dies is that their memories scatter and the soul prepares for a new incarnation. ”
He starts to laugh. “So Nonna’s still around because she’s stubborn? Yeah, that checks out.”
“Don’t tell her I said that. She might hit me like she did Marc,” I joke, and he laughs harder.
“Oh my god, I’m driving! Stop making me laugh.” He huffs out a final chuckle, then says, “I think I dragged us off topic. You were saying that the barrier is made of energy.”
I nod. “Right. And it’s the kind of energy that most people can’t feel, just doing its job of separating the two worlds.
There are some natural gateways, which are just openings in the barrier that allow travel between the worlds.
We’ve never been able to work out what causes them, but there are seven, and some of them are hundreds of millions of years old. ”
The car swerves slightly. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. That’s where most of the demons used to come through, before we worked out how to guard gateways.
Which I’ll tell you about in a second—I don’t want to get distracted again.
Gateways can also open spontaneously when there’s some kind of massive disturbance.
Really bad earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, for example, or bombings that result in a lot of death.
And the last kind of gateway is the kind that’s deliberately opened.
That can only be done from this side of the barrier—we don’t know why—and only by someone with a lot of paranormal ability or a demon. ”
“How much is a lot? Like… I’m guessing you can, since you’re a gatekeeper, but what about Connor? Or Josh… or Skye? They all have ‘paranormal ability,’ right?” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe my best friend has superpowers.”
I cough lightly to hide a laugh. “I can,” I agree. “So can Connor. Josh and Skye can’t. As a rule, mediums don’t have enough power, and trying kills them. Conduits just don’t have that skill set. Their abilities are different.”
“I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed by that. Okay, so once a gateway is opened, it needs a gatekeeper or demons can come through?”
“No,” I correct. “Some gateways can be closed. It depends on the size, how roughly they were opened, and how long they’ve been open.
That’s why when lesser demons open them, they’re as rough as they can be.
They think they have a better chance of coming back through a guarded gateway than no gateway. ”
He’s silent for a second. “I mean… I don’t want to agree with demons, but there’s some logic to that.”
“Not with lesser demons. A gatekeeper would need to be severely underpowered to not be able to keep out a lesser demon.” There’s no fucking way anything less than a determined higher demon would get through a gateway I was guarding. And even then, I’d have plenty of warning.
“Okay. So… let me see if I get this. A gateway is when a hole is worn open or ripped in the energy barrier.” He pauses, seemingly waiting for confirmation.
“Yep, that’s right.”
“And when that happens, gatekeepers can either close them or patch them, right?”
I cringe a little at hearing what I do called “patching,” even if it’s technically correct. “Yes. Although, it’s not just gatekeepers that can close a gateway. Hunters can, too, just like they can open them.”
“But they can’t patch them?”
“Guard them,” I correct, unable to resist. “No, they can’t. Only gatekeepers can do that.”
“Hmm.” His brow creases in a frown, and I admire the way his loose brown curls fall onto his forehead. “What if—”
He’s interrupted by a phone ringing. Mine, to be precise. “Sorry,” I say, fishing it out of my pocket. “It’s Con.” I answer, putting it on speaker. “Hey, you’ve got me and Tom.”
“Are you okay?” he demands, putting me on instant alert. I dart a glance at the side mirror, but the only headlights behind us are way back.
“Yeah, we’re good. Why? What happened? Was there an attack?”
“Huh?”
An audible sigh carries down the line. “It’s fine, Gabe. No attack,” Kieran says. “Where are you?”
Still not sure whether to relax or not, I look at Tom, who answers, “About forty-five minutes out from O’Hare, on I-55. Why?”
“You’re past it, then. A rig overturned on I-80. They’ve closed the highway in both directions and don’t think it’ll be open again until morning.”
“Fuck,” I say, but Tom’s unfazed.
“Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll come back on I-88. It doesn’t take that much longer.”
“Yeah, no,” Connor says. “There’s supposedly weather in Chicago, heading in our direction. You’d probably end up driving in it the whole way. It might be better for you to stay over and come back tomorrow.”
What? I stare at the phone. “Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?” I demand, only half joking.
Hunters are supposed to be immune from demonic mind games, but Marc’s been at the estate all day, and Connor’s been with him the whole time.
Who knows what they can do with that kind of prolonged exposure?
“Don’t be a dick, Gabe. It’s dark, it’s late, you and Tom have both had a long day. It’s not a good idea for you to drive back here after midnight in bad weather. Ian will probably appreciate not having to be in another moving vehicle, anyway. You know what he’s like with flying.”
As if to punctuate his point, it starts to rain. Not drizzle, either, but buckets of pelting rain. The wipers come on at full speed, and Tom slows the car a little as visibility decreases.
I sigh. “Tom? You’re the driver, you get to decide.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “I’ve driven in worse, but it’s going to take longer if it doesn’t let up. Plus, if I-80’s closed, the traffic will be worse on I-88, even at this time of night.”
Part of me wants to insist that we’ll come home anyway.
I hate that Connor’s the only one there capable of fighting off demons.
But it’s not fair to Tom to make him drive in shitty conditions when we can get a few hours’ sleep and set out in the morning.
Plus, Matt and Ian are going to be wired, and there will be arguments.
“Okay, fine. After we pick up the boys, we’ll stop somewhere for the night.”
“Great!” Connor declares, sounding relieved, which makes me feel shitty. “Kieran already booked you rooms.”
“What?”
“I’m sending the reservation to your phone now. I got you the Hilton right there at the airport, so you’ll be able to relax as soon as you have the boys.”
I close my eyes. I’ve been played, but I don’t know why. “Thanks, Kieran,” I say. “I’ll text when I have the boys, and then again when we leave tomorrow.”
Connor and Kieran end the call in a rush, stumbling over each other to say their goodbyes, and when I put my phone back in my pocket, Tom shoots me a glance. “What was up with them?”
“No fucking idea.”