Page 24 of Take You Home (Redwater Demons #3)

S olomon,” Obie says, mild surprise registering on his face. “Hi.”

Hi? Chester gapes at Sawyer, his pulse roaring in his ears. It’s been six long years since he last saw his former mentor, six long years since he last heard her voice??—

Six long years since she and Naomi Gutierrez vanished from the Sanctum, leaving their students behind.

And, Chester notes with some confusion, she looks weirdly different now.

Her skin is closer to Naomi’s light brown than her usual ebony, and her hair is far longer than she ever would’ve been caught dead wearing it at the Sanctum.

Chester would be tempted to say it’s a particularly poor glamour spell, but he doesn’t see any demons around who could’ve cast it.

Sawyer smiles ruefully. “What gave it away? The voice or the human-magic glamour?”

Chester’s jaw threatens to drop. “Wait. There are human-magic glamours? ”

Obie’s shoulders are tense, but his tone stays even. “Mostly the voice. And the glamour looks better than it used to.”

“Yeah, Roma and Ez made a few tweaks to their original spell. Worked like a charm.”

All at once, the world goes very quiet around Chester.

Roma created a human-magic glamour spell? Roma? Sure, Chester has always known she’s an incredible spellcaster, but??—

But it only took her a month after leaving her friends behind to start creating spells that could be used against them?

“That’s our spellcasters for you,” Obie says vaguely, and suddenly, Chester realizes that he probably wasn’t supposed to know about the human-magic glamours. “So what are you doing here?”

“Grabbing falafel for everyone,” Sawyer says, holding up a Falafel Express bag as evidence. “Micah is especially partial to hummus fries.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Micah. That must be Micah Devereux, one of the demons who Bryant mentioned was there when Roma defected last month. His husband, Gregorio Ricci, was also involved.

Do the two demons live with Sawyer and Naomi? Or do they just have big fugitive lunches together, like Obie and his friends?

How deep does all of this go?

There’s so much Chester doesn’t know anymore. His heart twists at the thought.

“How about you?” Sawyer asks now, glancing at the piece of paper on the table. “Is that a spell?”

“It’s?—?” Obie flicks his wrist, opens a pocket dimension, and drops the spell into it. “Yeah. Just one that I requested from the Deep for, um. For a friend.”

Sawyer looks confused. “Requested from the Deep? What do you mean? ”

“See?” Chester says, raising his eyebrows at Obie. “I’m not the only one who didn’t know about that.”

Obie’s jaw works. “Yeah. The Deep keeps a record of all casted spells, so it’s possible to request a copy of that record from the Deep. It’s… not a big deal.”

“Well, that kind of is a big deal, Obie,” Sawyer says, exasperated, and something about her voice??—

Chester swallows hard. He remembers Sawyer using that tone with him and JJ?—mostly himself, if he’s being honest?—whenever they missed an obvious feint or block during training.

Feels like a lifetime ago.

“Why couldn’t we have used that during the rift-opening epidemic?” Sawyer demands, and Chester sits up straighter, intrigued. “We could’ve created a counterspell weeks sooner if we’d just??—?”

“We couldn’t,” Obie cuts in, “because the Deep was destabilized, remember? The power threshold to tap into it was exponentially higher, and even if I could’ve surpassed it, accessing the Deep while it was unstable would’ve been asking to get killed.”

Huh. That’s a good point, actually. Chester rests his chin on his fist, considering Obie curiously. He knows that Ez is the best demon spellcaster in Redwater, but he forgets sometimes that Obie has accumulated impressive magical knowledge over the millennia, too.

Impressive knowledge about a lot of things, really.

Sawyer winces. “Yeah. That makes sense,” she says, and her eyes narrow. “Now that it’s stable, though, what if I wanted the incantation of a casted spell? What information would I need?”

“First of all, you wouldn’t do it,” Obie says. “I’ve heard horror stories from Ez about your spellcasting, Solomon. Even with a stable magic reservoir, you’d get yourself killed.”

Sawyer scowls, but she doesn’t deny it. “Fine. So what if I wanted to ask you to get the incantation of a casted spell for me? ”

Obie’s eyebrows furrow. “What’s this about?”

“The power signatures.”

“Power signatures?” Chester repeats, squinting at Obie.

Obie’s expression is curiously blank. “Right. Those,” he says.

“If you can, uh, get me the approximate dates, times, and locations where you think the spells were cast, then I might be able to get you the incantations. No guarantees, though?—not every magical power signature is necessarily caused by a spell, and the casting and the activation might’ve happened at different times. ”

“Well, the location is usually going to be the Redwater Sanctum,” Sawyer says, and Chester sits bolt upright, his heart stuttering. “Although Kingsborough seems to be getting in on the action nowadays, too. And I can get you a list of dates and times from the past few years.”

“What power signatures?” Chester demands, and he plants a hand on Obie’s shoulder, pushing a thought through their fledgling telepathic link. What power signatures is she talking about?

Obie twitches, but he doesn’t respond?—not in Chester’s head, and not out loud, either. “Sure, I can check them out for you. It just… might take a few weeks. Life has been pretty hectic lately.”

“No problem,” Sawyer says. “We’ve waited over six years. We can wait a little longer.”

Impatiently, Chester pushes another thought into Obie’s head. There have been magical power signatures coming from the Sanctum for six years?

Will you shut up? Obie snaps back. I can’t concentrate on both of you at once.

Then just answer the question!

Predictably enough, Obie doesn’t answer the question. “Sounds good. You can text me the list, and I’ll let you know if I get any hits.”

“Thanks, Obie.” Sawyer lets out a slow breath, her gaze drifting towards Redwater’s southern hills?—the hills where the Sanctum, her old home, is nestled. “I’m worried about them.”

Chester’s chest hurts. Obie sounds reluctant. “About Locke and Nehemiah, you mean?”

“Yeah. Especially Chester.” Her jaw tightens. “Honestly, I’ve been worried about him from the start.”

Chester’s eyes sting. Over the years, he’d managed to convince himself that Sawyer and Naomi wrote off him and his friends entirely after they left, that they didn’t care about their former students anymore, that maybe they’d never even cared in the first place??—

Apparently, though, Sawyer still thinks about them. Still thinks about him. “Oh,” he whispers.

Obie twitches again. To Chester’s surprise, he asks, “Because he’s a neophyte hunter?”

Sawyer grimaces. “Partly. He and JJ were always on shaky ground at the Sanctum. I’m less worried about Bryant, since the bloodlines hierarchy puts her closer to the top, but I know even that can’t always protect her nowadays.

” She looks away. “But I’m more worried about Chester because of his job down in the prison. ”

Chester blinks at her, startled. Obie’s eyebrows furrow. “I thought JJ said he was a good interrogator.”

“He isn’t. Never was.”

Chester jerks back, the words stinging like a slap in the face. Sawyer doesn’t think he’s a good interrogator? She never thought he was a good interrogator?

The only mentor he’s ever looked up to thought he wasn’t worth it?

Obie’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what JJ said. And JJ very much has firsthand experience with Chester’s skill set.”

Chester and Sawyer both flinch at the words. “I mean?—?” Sawyer begins, and she lets out her breath in a hiss. “Let me rephrase that. It’s not that Chester isn’t good at his job. It’s that his job isn’t good for him. Do you know how the Sanctum assigns vocations?”

Obie shakes his head.

“The Council watches you,” she says. “For most hunters, they watch you from childhood. Once you get older, they interview other people about you, trying to get a feel for your strengths and weaknesses.” She shakes her head.

“Obviously, none of that was an option for Chester and JJ. They were already ten years old when they arrived, so we had a very short window to figure out where they should end up?—or, more accurately, I had a very short window. I was the one who submitted their vocational aptitude scores and made recommendations.”

“And Locke and JJ were different?”

“Marginally,” Sawyer says. “Chester was a bit less of a team player than JJ. A bit more outspoken, a bit more likely to question orders. Nothing major. I figured they’d both be assigned to separate strike teams, and I’d just have to smooth over some of those rough edges with Chester.

” She scowls. “But then they put him down in the prison, instead.”

“And that was… bad?”

“Obie,” she says, “that’s where they put the sociopaths.

The sadists. The ones with low empathy scores who enjoy hurting other people.

That’s the exact opposite of what I observed in Chester.

That wasn’t a matter of smoothing over rough edges?—that was more like pinpointing Chester’s strengths and taking a sledgehammer to them. ”

Chester’s face feels hot and his body feels cold and his skin feels clammy. He stares at Sawyer, uncomprehending.

She thinks he shouldn’t have been an interrogator in the first place?

“And then they gave him Adrian Nostrand as an interrogation mentor,” Sawyer continues, and Chester swallows hard.

“The one interrogator who was guaranteed to be as unsympathetic as possible, to teach him in all the most callous and brutal ways, to constantly put him in his place until he started to believe it.” She leans forward.

“With JJ, they played to his strengths. With Chester, they?—they tried to kill him, honestly. Kill all the parts of him that matter.”

Chester can’t breathe. He puts his fingers on his chest, trying to fill his lungs with air, but it?—it shouldn’t be this hard.

Is he having a panic attack?

“Why?” Obie’s voice is neutral, but his shoulders are stiff.

Sawyer smiles grimly. “To separate him and JJ, obviously. To isolate Chester from anyone who would tolerate him questioning the Sanctum. JJ wasn’t stupid, but he was willing to follow orders and conform without thinking about it too deeply.

It was the only way he could survive. That’s why the Council put him on a strike team with a purebred and a mixed breed who was militant about never speaking out of turn?—it was their best option to keep him in line. ”

“But Chester?” Obie asks, and Chester almost flinches. Why is Obie still asking questions? It’s not like he cares about Chester’s life, not really. He could end this conversation at any time. He could??—

Is he just pushing for answers because Chester is right here?

And is he trying to help Chester or hurt him?

“They wanted to make Chester afraid to ask questions,” Sawyer says.

“You haven’t had the displeasure of meeting Nostrand, but he’s a goddamn piece of work.

He’s…” She hesitates. “He’s a skilled interrogator, but as a teacher, he’s notoriously intolerant of questions.

The Sanctum actively gave Chester a job description and a mentor that would make him spend all his mental energy on surviving, not questioning his situation.

Not giving him the opportunity to even think about rebelling. ”

Chester swallows hard. Fumbles to put his hand back on Obie’s shoulder. Please end this conversation. Please .

Obie’s expression shifts. “Well, I’m sure Nehemiah is looking out for him,” he says briskly, pushing himself to his feet. “And thanks for the info about the Sanctum. The more we know about their particular brand of psychological warfare, the better.”

Sawyer smiles bitterly. “Unfortunately. And I’ll send you the dates and times for those power signatures later today. Take care of yourself, okay, Smith?”

“You, too, Solomon.” Obie waves once before grabbing his Tacos Near Me bag and striding towards the north end of town, leaving Chester scrambling to catch up.

“Where?—??” Chester’s voice comes out hoarser than usual. He swallows hard and tries again. “Where are we going?”

Obie glances around before letting his hand drift to the side, his wrist just barely touching Chester’s. His voice wafts through Chester’s head. Back to the Sanctum. I’m just taking a detour so she doesn’t get suspicious.

Chester lets out a slow breath, wrapping his hand around Obie’s forearm to make the telepathic connection stronger. Okay.

Hey. Obie’s voice is cautious. You good?

Bitterness snakes through Chester. Bitterness at Sawyer, bitterness at Obie, bitterness at this entire situation??—

Bitterness at himself, most of all. What do you think, Smith?

Obie scoffs, pulling his arm out of Chester’s grip. They fall into frosty silence as they wind their way around town, making a long circle back towards the Sanctum.

And Chester still has a lot of questions. He wants to know more about why Sawyer thinks Chester shouldn’t have been an interrogator, about her theories regarding his and JJ’s jobs, about how long she was truly questioning the Council before she defected.

Wants to know about that human-magic glamour spell and those magical power signatures from the Sanctum .

Wants to know why Obie pushed so hard to get more information about Chester, but backed off the instant Chester asked him to.

For now, though, Chester just focuses on his footsteps, stays close enough to Obie to keep the binding spell happy, and tries to remember how to breathe.