Page 32 of Concluded (The Bureau #13)

M arek and Clay generously offered Achilles their own bed, but he didn’t want to be far from Dee and so he slept fitfully in an armchair instead.

Not that he expected Dee to run away—he wasn’t capable of it right now—and not that their current situation felt especially dangerous. Achilles simply wanted to be near.

He woke up before Dee and crept into the kitchen, where he found Clay sitting at the table with a mug of red liquid. “I picked up a few groceries if you want ’em,” Clay said.

“Thanks. Is Marek still on angel duty?” Achilles made a vague gesture upward.

“He’s fascinated. Someone his age, it’s hard to find something completely new. But you brought us Ish and a genie. Congratulations.” Clay flashed one of his rare grins.

The groceries in question turned out to be a slab of bacon, a dozen eggs, and a fresh loaf from Acme Bread. There was also a thermos of coffee, which was an extra-nice touch. Achilles fried up a healthy serving of food and joined Clay at the table.

“Jesus, that smells good,” Clay moaned.

“I’d offer you some, but….”

The habitual scowl returned. “Yeah.”

Vampires could consume blood from any mammal and a few non-mammalian NHSs, but according to what Achilles had been taught, anything else made them violently ill. “Do you want me to eat this somewhere else?”

“No, it’s fine. I can enjoy the scent, at least.”

“Vampire limitations must be frustrating at times.”

Clay’s big hands were wrapped around his mug, dwarfing it.

“I mostly don’t mind. I was a night person before.

And if Marek hadn’t turned me, I’d be dead.

Now I won’t go bald, my knees and back won’t give out, and as long as I avoid sunshine, decapitation, and wooden stakes, I’ll be around a long time.

It’s worth the trade.” He gazed at Achilles from under his brow.

“I bet you’ve also given things up to be where you are. ”

“Yeah.” And if, right after the bear mauled him, someone had asked Achilles whether it was worth it, he’d have said no. His answer might be different today, however.

They sat in silence for a long time, nursing their respective drinks.

It was a cozy kitchen. Abe and Thomas must have updated it in the fifties, and since then very little had been done.

The current owners, of course, didn’t do any cooking.

It was a wonder they’d even possessed the basic cookware and cutlery that Achilles had needed to prepare breakfast.

But Abe and Thomas had lived here a long time; from what he understood, they’d been together for decades.

Abe, who was aging very slowly due to his weird association with the dead, had watched his partner get old, fall sick, and die.

From what Achilles had heard, Abe was heartbroken when Thomas passed.

But even then, Abe didn’t give up. As he told Achilles once, “I’ll keep fighting the good fight, boychik.

I still have to face myself in the mirror, don’t I? ”

“Grimes is here,” said Clay, seconds before the doorbell rang. Vampire hearing was a wonder.

When Charles entered the house, he looked uncharacteristically disheveled and his pallor was even more pronounced than usual. One of Tenrael’s horns was broken. “It will grow back,” he said when he caught Achilles staring.

“What the hell happened in Seattle?” Achilles demanded. They were all crowded into the vestibule, and he smelled gunpowder on Charles’s clothes.

Charles shook his head. “It’s bad. But I need to see—” He stopped and visibly calmed himself. “Thank you for what you did. Is Dee all right?”

“Just tired. He was fucking amazing, Chief. He didn’t just grant wishes—he saved my neck.”

“And… the angel?”

Clay answered. “The same. He’s upstairs.”

Charles took off at a near gallop, Tenrael hard at his heels. Clay apparently decided to stay downstairs, but not Achilles. He didn’t need to be there when Charles and Ish met, but he was curious as hell.

They all burst into the bedroom in a manner that would have startled anyone but a vampire. Marek, however, was already standing. He nodded at Tenrael and left the room.

Charles froze when he reached the bedside.

He stood there, gazing down, looking more vulnerable and more human than Achilles had ever seen him.

The resemblance between him and Ish was unmistakable now.

They shared the same arched white eyebrows, high cheekbones, and slightly beaky nose.

The same prominent chin. They were both ageless.

And when Charles touched a tentative finger to Ish’s wing, Ish’s lids lifted to show eyes the same bottle-green as Charles’s.

“I am Charles Grimm.”

Ish stared at him silently before letting out a long sigh. “I failed your mother. I failed you.”

And then Charles began to sob. It was far more than Achilles thought he should witness, so he gave a single pat to Tenrael’s arm and then left the room.

Downstairs, Dee was sitting upright on the couch while Clay and Marek hovered nearby. “Is it him?” Dee asked. “Is Ish his father?”

“I think so.”

Achilles sat next to him. He didn’t know what Clay and Marek were thinking about, but he suspected that Dee’s thoughts were running the same direction as his own: memories of parents long gone. Some wounds were incredibly slow to heal and would always leave a scar.

* * *

An hour later, Dee had eaten breakfast and the vampires had retired to their room.

It had been interesting to see Clay and Marek together.

Clay had always been dour, and becoming a vampire hadn’t changed that, but in Marek’s presence he seemed more comfortable in himself.

And Marek, elegant and urbane, seemed as if he felt more grounded with Clay’s earthy presence.

An odd match, perhaps, but in Achilles’ estimation, a good one.

Tenrael and Charles came down to the living room. Now Charles really looked like he’d been dragged backward through hell, but some of the perpetual iciness in his eyes had warmed. He sat in the armchair, and when Tenrael knelt beside him, Charles immediately reached over and stroked his wings.

Emotional support demon , Achilles thought, but he managed to suppress a smile.

“My gratitude to both of you,” Charles began.

Achilles raised a hand. “It can remain unstated. We would have done it regardless of whether he was your relative.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Dee asked.

Charles sighed. “He’s… badly hurt. I need to find a place where he’ll be safe as he recovers. But there are no safe spots now.”

“I can make him one.”

As Charles blinked in surprise, Achilles gave Dee a poke in the arm. “You’re already worn out, man. You can’t?—”

“It’s not so bad. The more I use it, the stronger I get. Like a muscle. Give me a couple hours and I bet I could manage.”

Although Achilles wanted to be protective of Dee, he held his tongue.

Dee was an adult and could make his own decisions; he didn’t need a nursemaid, and it wasn’t Achilles’ place to tell him what to do.

He couldn’t help but wonder, however, just how much Dee would be capable of with more practice.

Charles was undoubtedly wondering the same.

“I’d be deeply obliged,” Charles said. “But if you’re going to fashion a place of refuge, it should be for you. And maybe Achilles.”

Achilles made a noise. “Not me. I’m still in this, Chief.” It was weirdly relieving to say so.

Dee clutched at Achilles’ knee. “But… we won. Ish is free.”

Oh no. Achilles hadn’t been clear enough about this, just as he hadn’t sufficiently explained to Orson how risky his new job was.

He spoke slowly now, carefully. “People talk about it— I talk about it—like it’s a war.

Battles. Enemies. Casualties. But that’s as much a fiction as”—he made finger quotes for emphasis—“the ‘war on drugs’ and the ‘war on crime.’ A real war, even a bad one, has a goal in sight. Has an end. The Bureau’s duties don’t.

We will never win, although I guess we can lose big time. ”

“Then why bother?” Dee looked deeply troubled.

“Because… because making the effort counts. Every time someone tries to do good, even in a small way, it matters.” Achilles wished he could articulate this better. He felt the truth of it even if he couldn’t quite find the right words.

Unexpectedly, Tenrael came to his rescue.

“An analogy. Imagine a plot of land. Perhaps a forest once grew there, perhaps crops were planted, but now it is barren. I plant a seed there—it is tiny. Charles also plants a seed, and Achilles, and Clay and Marek, and our friends from the stars, and the coyotes, and many others. Some of those seeds mature to plants that, in turn, produce more seeds. Now the land is lush with growth. Eventually, drought will come, or floods, or fire, or the climate may become inhospitable. The plants will die, the land is once again barren. For a time, however, there was growth. In the future there might be again. So we plant our seeds.”

Achilles gave him a grateful smile before turning to Dee.

“By the sound of it, something’s royally fucked up in Seattle right now.

We don’t know whether Dunn’s still alive, and even if she isn’t, her buddies are still moving forward.

There’s shit everywhere , it seems like.

Lots of Bureau agents are smarter than me.

Lots are stronger. I don’t have a single, solitary superpower.

I’m not as young as I used to be. But dammit, I can still plant a seed. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

As he gave this little speech, Achilles had a realization.

He wasn’t continuing the fight because he wanted to impress anyone or receive praise.

It wouldn’t make up for anything in his past and it wouldn’t make anyone love him.

He’d probably end up with more scars, at the least, or quite possibly a grave.

Nevertheless, he wanted to do this because, for fuck’s sake, planting seeds was what he did. Who he was.

After a long pause, Dee nodded and then took Achilles’ hand. “Could you maybe use a trowel?” he asked.

Forget about overextended analogies and the watchful presence of a demon and a half-angel. Achilles twisted, grasped Dee’s shoulders, and kissed the ever-loving hell out of him.