Whether or not Pearl knew Frank, we didn’t discuss it further. I imagined that if it was important information, she would have let me know. For now, my brain had enough wild revelations and unearthed truths for the rest of the week.

The demon groaned and melted into the bed

I moved off her onto my side and rolled my shoulders out. A job well done, I hoped.

“Nothing like a post-battle back rub,” Pearl murmured into the mattress. “You really do treat me well, Eric.”

“Well,” I said with a smile, “I couldn’t leave a Grand Executioner wanting.”

She groaned again, this time with less enthusiasm, and turned her head to face me. My skill must have been well received, as she looked half asleep. Her silver-white hair was a mess over narrowed eyes. “You better not make that a thing, Mr. Last Lantern.”

I pulled a face. “Fair point.” With my hand, I pushed the hair from her face. “I’m going to go check on Rodney. Want anything from the kitchen?”

Pearl shook her head. “I’ll just be going over some of my information. I’ll… be waiting for you when you get back.” Her eyebrows wiggled. “Unless I fall asleep, in which case, don’t wake me.” A playful scowl darkened her face.

With a grin, I nodded and exited the bed. It had been a long and emotional day, I’d probably be too spent for any further activities. I could tell she knew that, but the teasing was just how we communicated sometimes. My back clicked as I stretched it out, and I blew her a kiss as I headed toward the door.

I walked across the hallway and saw Wight’s room was open. Gently, I pushed the door open wider and looked around the gloom within. His windows were in a perpetual state of being covered up by a blanket he nailed up there somehow. Just as I went to flick the light on, I noticed he had removed the bulb. He did love the darkness.

My eyes couldn’t pick out much detail on the ‘art wall.’ Dozens of scrawled upon pages sat in a loose grid, supposedly meant to make something greater. Even in the light of day, it made little sense to me. All things in good time, I supposed. With the door pulled back to, I continued down the hallway above the lobby toward Rodney’s room just before the stairs.

I paused to draw a deep breath. I was no good at these sorts of things, but if I could delve into the Hells against unspeakable horrors, then a heart to heart with one of my closest friends should be easy enough. Should be.

Knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Enter,” his voice came from within.

Pushing the door open, I realized I hadn’t really been in his room much since we moved here. He was an adult, and I allowed him the personal space. It was probably weird enough sharing the house with my demon and my… demon. We gathered to shelter from the coming storm.

Organized chaos is perhaps how I would describe what greeted my eyes. Most of the perimeter of his room that wasn’t his bed was tables cluttered with various electronics, some of which had runes or symbols engraved on them. The longest table had been roughly cleared so that he could work on the shotgun, a lamp illuminating the workspace where he was currently sitting.

He caught my drifting eyes and gave a sheepish grin. “Passage has a lot of ideas. Keeps me busy.”

“Anything that works?” I raised an eyebrow and pushed the door closed behind me. Stepped across to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Not yet.” His head tilted, and he drummed his fingers on the chair arm as he swiveled to face me. “Waiting for a… eureka moment. Something to tie things together.”

“And are you feeling ‘tied together?’” Probably the least smooth segue I had ever had the displeasure of speaking, but I wasn’t here to talk shop. Not right away, anyway.

Rodney deflated and looked up at the ceiling, unimpressed at having to address feelings that he was trying to work past. “I think… you probably know it’s not an easy yes or no answer.”

“Sure do,” I replied. “But I want you to know you have people around that are here to hear the answer when you have a better grasp of it.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He smiled and slowly shook his head. “Not such an asshole, after all.”

“I have my moments.” With a shrug, I then narrowed my eyes. “Main reason I’m here is to talk to you about rent payments.”

His grin was close enough to turning into a chuckle that I counted it as a win.

“Nice one, cowboy.” The Blank rolled his eyes. “I still have control of your finances, so what do I owe you with your own money?”

I wrinkled up my face. “It’ll be a grand total of… you being okay.”

The chair creaked as he sunk lower in it, sighing. “I am okay, Eric. Thank you.”

“Thank fuck one of us is, then.” I grinned and stood up, stretching out my back again. Perhaps using my mortar to shoot myself into the air had been a bad idea. “Let me know if I can help with any of this.” I gestured to the clutter of half-finished projects. “Some extra gadgets in Hell would be… divine.”

His expression told me that I might have worn out my welcome, but he gave me a nod. “Focusing on the shotgun for now, it might be ready for tomorrow. After that… we’ll see.”

I tipped an invisible hat and left his room, allowing him to swivel back to his work. As the door shut behind me, I wasn’t sure if I had done well or not. Maybe he was okay, but if he wasn’t, then he knew I was there for him. That’s as much as could be asked of me, I decided for myself. Getting good at this human shit, Eric.

Before turning back to bed, I decided I would grab a snack. Maybe a coffee—although I didn’t want to be up too late worrying about the Org and them making our Mids advancement decision or not. It always ground at my gears when they gave me the silent treatment. No doubt I would wake up to a message to come in to headquarters. With the extra eyes on me, the testing Partridge had managed to slightly delay might be brought up again.

As I walked down the stairs, all I could think was that things were coming to a point. We had shaken the carbonated beverage up enough. Things were tense. Ready to burst. Perhaps I should just ply a back rub from Pearl. My back was terrible this evening.

I stopped in the lobby, my eyes switching from the dining room over to the open doorway of the lounge. Sitting in the darkness, two circles of crimson above a beak, the slight hint of dark blue giving it shape.

With a furrowed brow, I walked over. I had thought he was still bugging the Organization.

“Everything good, Wight?” I stood behind the couch. He was on the recliner, legs tucked up with his feathered arms around them. “May I sit?”

[Be my guest, Eric.]

I circled and sunk down onto the soft seating. In the darkness, there was something calm about the muted grays of the furniture and decor. Part of me wanted to flick a lamp on, shame I didn’t have a lantern handy.

[Some days, I feel like I am becoming undone.]

Ever the bringer of bloodshed and malady, it looked like today I was destined to use my heavy shoulders for others to cry on. We held each other together.

“Are you worried about the vessel thing?”

[I should be. You should be. Freedom is… a curse for me.]

I furrowed my brow again and tilted my head. For the longest time, freedom seemed like a goal that he wanted to achieve. Away from the Org, and the pacts… possibly me, too. “You think it would make our partnership impossible?”

He didn’t respond for a few moments. Barely even moved.

[It would make one or both of us dead.]

I grinned. “What, you thought I wanted to live forever? Every time I step into Hell, I put my life on the line. You’re too powerful to be a patron like the Org expects you to be. We were doomed from the outset.”

[You may be okay with your own mortality, Eric. But I am not.]

“You’re afraid of dying?”

[Of you dying.]

I rubbed at my forehead. “Tough shit, you shouldn’t care for me.”

[Eric?]

Without hesitation, I stood up from the couch and stepped over to him. Grabbed hold of the recliner arms and leaned into him, putting my face up close to his. He shrunk backward slightly.

“We have a job to do, Wight. A singular purpose. Tools of destiny. All we have goes toward that, and then we are dead. You want to rise above that? Carve an existence for the both of us once the dust has settled? Then get your beak out of the shit and step up.” I raised my finger up before he could respond. “Step the fuck up.”

After two long seconds, I relented and stood back away from him.

He sat there with his beak partially open, just staring at me, before movement had him speaking.

[Eric.]

Without ceremony, he hopped off of the recliner and moved passed me. All the way through the lobby, up the stairs, and eventually to his room.

I stretched my back out.

Not quite as good as the chat with Rodney. I had seen this coming for a while, if I were honest with myself. Turning, I took my turn to sit in the recliner. Right where I needed it, as always. Even with the diner fiasco, he hadn’t been that engaged until my skill annoyed him. Whatever truth lay behind him becoming slightly like me, had clearly softened his purpose. My life depended on him. I was the only one allowed to be weak.

Even the hypocrisy of this statement didn’t budge my mood. If we were expected to save the world, destroy the Org, and kill all demons - our lives were guaranteed to be forfeit if we succeeded. The amount of danger, and power, in play for that kind of fate… there was no chance a mortal like me would be surviving the aftermath. Whether Wight could survive was neither here nor there. Whatever manner of demon he was, a death in this form shouldn’t erase him from existence.

Part of me had expected him to fight back. A slight power struggle where we could hash things out to be on the same page again. Sharpened tools.

But he had not. He knew I was right and had nothing to come back with. It was perhaps the only thing stopping me from feeling guilty.

I leaned over and switched the lamp on, bringing illumination to the room.

My tongue rolled across my teeth, counting them. Already, the taste of tomorrow was in my mouth and it had ruined my appetite.

There was a list around here with names that needed to be scratched over with Redd ink.