Chapter 10: With Friends Like These

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Dakota hasn’t spoken since he told Lucas to buckle his seatbelt. His shoulders are hunched slightly over the wheel, and every once in a while I hear faint chatter from his police radio.

‘Mrs. Tucker is saying she saw a cop pull up and start shooting someone’s dog.’

‘Someone’s dog?’

‘Yeah. Behind Ms. Peterson’s yard.’

‘Jesus. Well, she get a look at whoever it was?’

‘No. Her eyes are going bad. But she says she heard gunshots, and that woman’s got ears like a bat.’

There’s a faint chuckle. Then:

‘Town gossips always do.’

We’re off the beaten path. Not that that’s saying much (again, Iowa,) but we’re in the boonies even for the Midwest. Long rolling hills flit by, along with the occasional smattering of trees. We’re only about ten minutes out of town, so my hackles aren’t up yet - plus, you know, Dakota’s a cop - but still. I’m getting major déjà vu vibes.

At least I’m not in the trunk this time.

“Where are you taking us?” Ms. Peterson demands. Thank god someone here is less polite than me. Nathan is practically squishing me into the door because of how hard he’s leaning away from her, like she might bite him if he touches her. Which, I mean, she might. I don’t know her that well. Her teeth certainly don’t look like dentures, I bet they pack a punch.

“My place,” he replies. “There are wards there that should protect us. For a while, at least.”

“From that thing,” the old woman says. “That thing that ate Mr. Darcy.”

“Oh, I assure you, it did not eat Mr. Darcy.” Lucas’s voice is a drawl, and I resist the urge to jab him in the ribs from the back seat.

She turns her attention to the incubus, looking hopeful. “Really? I thought…”

“That was Mr. Darcy, my dear.”

Ms. Peterson looks utterly mortified. “He wouldn’t,” I hear her mumble. “Mr. Darcy is a perfect gentleman.”

I give Lucas a glare to beat the devil (because I feel like that will be more effective for him) and he falls, rather reluctantly, silent.

“At any rate, Ms. Peterson,” Dakota intervenes. “Yes. The wards will protect us against whatever has taken hold of your…cat.” I see him cast Lucas a sidelong glance in the rearview mirror. “They will prevent any demons from entering.”

“So I’m not welcome? I’m wounded,” Lucas says, pressing a hand to his chest. Nathan is looking at the incubus like his eyes are about to pop out of his head, and Ms. Peterson gives him such a powerful squint that I’m pretty sure she’s studying the gray matter in his skull.

“You,” she says. “You’re a demon?”

Lucas rolls his head and shoulder so that he’s facing us. I hear Nathan take in a slightly sharper breath - I can’t really blame him. Even with his hair tousled from the fight and his clothing ruffled, he looks delicious. Now that I’m looking at him more closely, I realize one of the beast’s claws must have caught his clothes, because there’s a strip torn off of the front of his shirt, and if I tilt my head just so, I can make out the definition of his…

‘I’d be willing to give you the full tour if you like,’ he purrs into my mind. ‘Not here, though. I don’t want the old woman to have a heart attack.’

I hiss, glaring at him. ‘Where were you during that fight? I was trying to reach out to you, talk to you, but I couldn’t find you.’

‘Proximity,’ he replies. ‘Beyond a certain radius, our ability to communicate this way is limited. I’m afraid you were, for a lack of a better phrase, out of range.’

‘And whose fault was that?’ I snap.

He arches a single, infuriatingly perfect brow. ‘Who left the apartment?’

“You don’t look like a demon.”

Ms. Peterson’s words almost sound like a rebuke, and they cut through our silent discourse as effectively as a knife.

“Yes, well.” Lucas flashes her a smile. “What you see before you is a host, my dear. And a rather delightful one at that, I might add.” He swings his gaze to Nathan, studying him. “…My oh my. I see that someone is very interested.”

He gives an indicative glance at Nathan’s crotch. There’s nothing there - not really - but I see my friend turn bright, flaming red. He clears his throat, lifts his head, and says:

“So you’re the asshole who stabbed Lyds, I take it?”

Touché, Nathan!

Lucas looks positively affronted. He glances at me. “Is that what she told you? I’m hurt, you know. Truly this time.”

“Excuse me,” Ms. Peterson pipes in. “But would someone mind telling me what in the hell is going on?”

The car falls silent. All eyes fall on her. Even Dakota glances at the rearview mirror with an ‘oh boy, here it comes’ look on his face.

“There is some sort of vicious cat-thing currently rampaging through my home,” she says, her voice rising in pitch, “Possessing my poor Mr. Darcy. Our dear officer friend here has a magical handgun, and evidently he’s been following you around for God only knows why, because I refuse to believe he appeared in the nick of time by mere happenstance.” She pauses here for a moment, giving the officer the opportunity to deny it. Dakota clears his throat uncomfortably and re-fixes his eyes on the road.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Nodding satisfaction, she then casts a withering look towards me, and I promptly try to become one with the upholstery under my ass. “And you,” she finishes, staring towards Lucas again. “You…” Trailing off, I think for a moment that she won’t find anything to say. But then she finishes with: “I do not like you.”

Ouch.

Lucas blinks owlishly at that. For once, he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“We’re here,” Dakota announces. He puts the car in park and glances back at us expectantly. Uncomfortable with Ms. Peterson’s withering stare, I open the door and slink out, if only to get some air.

I find myself standing in front of a quaint little cabin, the sort people always put in paintings. There’s a stone fireplace to one side, and I can see a lump on the front porch - some old, lop-eared dog that hasn’t bothered to lift his head in greeting. The cabin is surrounded by a sparse smattering of trees, a tiny copse in the middle of rolling farmland.

“Pretty,” I say, mostly to myself.

“Thank you,” comes Dakota’s reply. He waits until everyone is out of the car before locking the doors, then gestures towards the house. “Everyone should come inside.” A pause, and he glances at Lucas, voice hardening. “Except you.”

Lucas shrugs lightly. “Oh, nevermind me. The creature isn’t chasing me anyway.” He casts a meaningful glance towards me and the book.

‘When you’re finished here, we need to talk.’

I scowl at him, clutching the book tight to my chest. I haven’t decided how I feel about this free back-and-forth between us now. I’m getting the feeling that he’s growing closer to me. That whatever’s binding us is getting stronger.

‘Fine,’ I reply. And then I turn and walk after the others, filing into the cabin.

There’s a faint tingling sensation when I pass over the threshold - like I just touched a very low-voltage wire. I pause, blinking, giving Dakota a questioning look. He’s already well into his living room, moving about and situating some furniture, dragging chairs over towards a checkered sofa. He doesn’t react to the look I’m giving him, so I just keep moving, telling myself it was nothing.

But the further I go in, the more obvious the tingling grows. At first it’s annoying. Then it becomes uncomfortable. By the time my foot touches the carpet, that little zap has become a very, very hot wire, and it’s running a claw right up my spine. I gasp, dropping the book, and stumble backwards towards the door, falling flat on my back with a thud. Nathan’s quick to run up to me, following me back out onto the porch.

“Lydia? What happened?!”

Ms. Peterson studies me over his shoulder, looking more intrigued than concerned.

“I,” I reply, breathless. “I don’t know.”

The lump of a dog chooses this moment to let out a grunt, amble to his feet, and wander over to begin dutifully licking the top of my head.

With a grunt, I begin to sit up again, brushing drool out of my hair with a barely restrained ick and giving the mutt a reflexive pat on the head. Dakota pushes past Nathan in the doorway, his boots making dual thunk-thunks on the porch that sound overly loud. When I peer up at him, his features are impossible to read.

“I’m getting the feeling we’re going to be bedding down here for a while,” he says. He glances towards Nathan. “There are some spare blankets in the wardrobe in my room, first door on your left, down the hall. The couch is a fold-out bed. Mind setting it up for me?”

Nathan hesitates, looking between me and the boy in blue. I think it’s the blue part that eventually gets him moving, though he doesn’t look happy about it. “…Sure,” he says, backing up slowly. “Alright.”

“Ms. Peterson. There’s some leftovers in the fridge - big tupperware of venison. You mind heating that up and divvying it out? I’m going to take a moment to talk to Lucas and Lydia here.” He glances over his shoulder at the both of them, driving the point home. “Alone.”

He doesn’t wait for either of them to agree or protest. He just steps outside, shuts the door behind him, and begins walking down the front steps. There’s a faint whistle, and the dog slurps its tongue dutifully back into its mouth before falling into stride beside him, suddenly looking very serious.

I’ve got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Miss Grace?” He doesn’t look back as he walks. “Please follow me.”

Lucas doesn’t even get the courtesy of being called by name. Dakota just casts a glance his way: cursory, dismissive, and then twists his hand in a beckoning flick.

The feeling in my stomach worsens, twisting. I look at the gun holstered at Dakota’s hip. It’s not lost on me that those wards he mentioned just kicked me out of his house and onto my ass. I have no idea who this guy actually is - it’s pretty obvious he’s not just a cop. I think the only reason I’m not booking it already is that he did just get done saving our lives - which is a pretty big point in his favor.

Lucas draws up beside me. I get the feeling he’s only following along because I am - I could feel him bristle over our link. He didn’t like Dakota’s presumptuous little summons one bit.

‘So. Any idea what we’re dealing with here?’ I ask. Connecting with him is surprisingly easy, almost as easy as thinking. It feels like an overlay has been installed on my internal dialogue, a tube that I can shoot messages through to get to him. Strange - but what’s stranger is that it already feels so natural.

I should keep an eye on that.

‘He could be any number of things,’ he replies. ‘Believe it or not, there are a number of organizations who make it a point to hunt creatures such as myself.’

‘…Can you even be hunted?’

His lips twitch, as though he finds something about my question amusing.

‘Everything can be hunted, my dear.’

Alright. Not very reassuring.

What’s less reassuring is that we’re drifting further away from Dakota’s house. I was hoping that we’d at least stay within sight of it - just so I could comfort myself with the thought of Nathan watching from the window. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t just stand by and let this guy shoot me, even if he is a cop.

The dog has started panting, his tongue lolling out of his mouth again, happy as a clam. I really wish I could share his enthusiasm.

By the time we stop, I know we’re obscured from sight by a line of trees. They’re mostly bare of leaves now - I can see my breath faintly fogging the air. I don’t see the road from here beyond a vague sliver of gray between the trunks. It’s an improvement from last time, at least - I’ll take this over being tied up and gagged any day.

“I assumed you were the host, given the display with the amalgam,” Dakota says, his eyes boring into Lucas. Then he swings that gaze to me, and I feel a part of me whither and die under the intensity. “Unfortunately, it seems this situation is more complicated than I thought. That doesn’t make me happy.”

“Uh. What’s an amalgam?” I ask.

He ignores me.

“So here’s what’s going to happen. You, Lucas Everdane Hallowsworth, are going to tell me exactly what happened during your latest attempt at a summons. You were clearly much more successful than you have been in the past - even found a real grimoire. I’m impressed!”

I don’t get ‘impressed’ from his tone. I get irritated. Extremely irritated. When I glance sidelong at Lucas, the incubus looks confused, his brows furrowed. I reassess as he raises two fingers to his temple and rubs it softly - not confused, then. He’s concentrating on something. I have no idea what.

“Personally, I’m getting very tired of chasing your tail from nowhere to nowhere,” Dakota continues. The cool-as-a-cucumber vibe he had going for him during the attack at Ms. Peterson’s house has melted like so much dry ice. I’m pretty sure I can see the air around his ears steaming. “So you’re going to tell me exactly what you did, so I can start figuring out how to uncluster whatever it is you’ve fucked.”

I have a knee-jerk suspicion that Dakota Hunter isn’t the kind of guy who swears often. He casts a look at me, and I find his expression difficult to read. For a moment, he almost seems sad. Mournful, even, like he’s looking at someone he knows doesn’t have long to live. Then his features contort, and I see unbridled rage pull at the seams of his mouth and the corners of his eyes.

I glance, rather pathetically, towards the dog. As if it’s going to offer assistance. It just peers at me with rheumy old eyes and gives its tail a little wag of camaraderie.

I mean, I admit. It does make me feel slightly better.

“…And,” Lucas begins, his words careful and slow, “If I don’t cooperate with this interrogation of yours?”

Dakota’s features smooth themselves out into perfect blankness. In one smooth movement, he draws out the gun, cocks it -

And aims it directly at my chest.

“Then I’ll start with her.”