Page 31 of Take You Home (Redwater Demons #3)

Mostly, though, he’s kind. He’s helpful. He cares deeply about his friends and is scrupulous about his job. He’s even started to banter with Obie sometimes, and Obie has been struck by just how quick and smart and funny Chester is.

He doesn’t want those perceptions to be shattered by watching Chester cut someone open.

For now, though, they just have to deal with the aftermath.

Obie suppresses a shudder when Chester shoulders open the door to reveal blood still dripping from the interrogation table.

What did the interrogator do to that poor demon?

Did they do it for fun, or because the demon didn’t give them the information they wanted?

If the demon was new to Earth, did they even have any information to give?

Obie has long since learned that Chester tries not to think about those details. Instead, he just walks across the room, grabs some cleaning supplies from the closet, and starts filling the bucket under the faucet. “Soundproofing?” he whispers.

Despite himself, Obie smiles. He skulks around invisibly most of the time, reading books or scrolling through his cell phone, but whenever he and Chester are truly alone, they’ve started having conversations.

Decisively, he snaps his fingers, widening their usual soundproofing spell so no one can hear Chester. “Done.”

Chester cuts a glance towards the one-way mirror, checking that the blinds are closed and the camera is off, before visibly relaxing. “It wasn’t a demon,” he says without preamble, carrying the bucket over to the worst of the blood spatter. “It was a dissident. If that makes you feel any better.”

Obie releases his invisibility spell. “Not really. Especially since I’m close personal friends with two dissidents and acquaintances with another two.”

Chester’s face shuts down. “Oh,” he says shortly, dunking his sponge back into the bucket. “Okay.”

“But thanks for trying,” Obie adds, strolling over to grab a second sponge. Chester gives Obie a strange look when he starts cleaning the interrogation table, but he doesn’t tell him to stop.

Good. The leather restraints are imbued with corrosion spells, so Obie will leave those for Chester to clean?—even with gloves, there’s still a risk of them touching his wrist or forearm?—but beyond that, he’s perfectly capable of basic manual labor. In a way, it’s almost relaxing.

Like he and Chester can work together towards a common goal that’s more low-stakes?—and more achievable?—than breaking the binding spell.

Obie finishes the interrogation table at the same time that Chester wipes down the last stretch of tile floor. In unison, they move on to the small metal table where interrogators lay out their tools.

“You don’t need to help me, you know,” Chester says eventually, cleaning the underside of the instrumentation table while Obie handles the top. “I can do it.”

Obie waves a hand dismissively, glancing at the floor. Perfectly polished, just like every other room Chester has cleaned over the past month. Really, his attention to detail is impeccable. “Yeah, but it’s faster with two people. And you’re partly evaluated on your efficiency, right?”

Chester squints at him. “I thought you’d want to make me less efficient, then,” he says, carefully wiping down the table’s legs and wheels. “If the Council decides that I’m back up to their standards, then they’ll put me on interrogation duty again. And you didn’t seem to like that last time. ”

Obie fights back a wince. “Fine,” he says airily. “So I won’t help in the next room.”

Chester rolls his eyes. “Business as usual, then,” he says, and he dumps the dirty water in the sink, rinses out the bucket and sponges, and sets them back in the closet. “Soundproofing and invisibility?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Obie sighs, adjusting the soundproofing spell again and making himself invisible. “Next room?”

“Next room,” Chester agrees, and he strides towards the door, reaches out to grab the handle??—

It swings open before he can. “Locke,” Adrian Nostrand says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Chester stiffens. Obie throws him a quick glance, confused. Chester has always seemed tense whenever he’s had to interact with Nostrand over the past few weeks, always looked like he was ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice, but now??—

Now, he almost looks scared. “Okay,” he says, his voice strained. “What is it?”

“Rooms 18 and 33 are needed ahead of schedule,” Nostrand says briskly. “Get them cleaned by the top of the hour. We have two new neophytes with no place to put them.”

Chester nods jerkily. “I was on my way to do those right now.”

Nostrand’s gaze lands on a point over Chester’s shoulder. His eyes narrow. “Really? Without finishing in here?”

Chester’s head snaps around, his wide eyes finding the interrogation table’s bloody straps, and Obie bites out a curse. Chester is always so meticulous that Obie didn’t even think to remind him, and Chester probably forgot about the corrosion spell and assumed Obie had already cleaned them.

So much for trying to help. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve said something. ”

“I?—?” Chester swallows hard, his eyes darting back to Nostrand. “I meant after that. I just, um, need to refill the leather polish first. I’ll finish cleaning those, and?—and then I’ll head to Room 18 after that.”

Nostrand considers Chester critically, the seconds stretching out in taut silence. Chester looks like he’s barely breathing, rigid and still like he’s waiting for an ax to drop, and??—

And then Nostrand scoffs, turning away. “Make it snappy, Locke. Some of us have actual jobs to do,” he says curtly, and without another word, he stalks out the door and disappears from sight.

Obie barely waits until the door closes behind him before snapping the soundproofing spell back into place. “What the hell was that, Locke?”

Chester’s breathing still sounds shaky. “Nothing,” he says, and he speed-walks across the room to the closet, fumbling for his cleaning supplies with trembling hands.

“And it?—it wasn’t your fault. I should’ve remembered that the straps are corrosive, so you obviously couldn’t clean them. Obviously. I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Locke?—?”

“I should’ve checked.” Chester sounds almost disgusted with himself. “I always check, and??—?”

“Locke?— Chester.” Obie makes himself visible and grabs Chester’s arm, forcing him to turn around and meet Obie’s eyes. “What’s going on?”

For a long moment, Chester’s jaw works.

And then he looks away. “I took a lot of beatings back in the day,” he confesses quietly. “Mostly from Nostrand, but?—but sometimes from other interrogators, too. Usually when cameras were off and blinds were down. That’s why I don’t usually like to close them, but…”

Obie’s heart cracks a little. Over the past week or so, Chester has specifically been closing the blinds so Obie didn’t have to stay invisible. “And they got away with it?”

Chester shrugs one shoulder. Doesn’t look at him.

“Mostly. It would’ve been my word against theirs, and the spellcasters in the infirmary didn’t ask questions.

It didn’t happen all the time, you know?

Mainly just when I made mistakes on the job.

And reporting Nostrand to the Council was out of the question?—I accidentally got him in trouble once when I let it slip that he kept me on auxiliary duty months after he should’ve started to teach me interrogation, and that… ended badly.”

“Wasn’t Nostrand supposed to be your mentor? Your teacher?” Anger boils behind Obie’s sternum. “If he abuses that power??—?”

“I mean?—?” Chester’s shoulders hunch. “I did learn. I?—I got good at not making mistakes. So I guess??—?”

“I’m not the Council, Chester,” Obie snaps. “You don’t have to try to justify his abuse to me. And you really shouldn’t be trying to justify it to yourself, either.”

Chester flinches. For a split second, Obie thinks that the words might’ve been too harsh, too biting, too much for Chester right now??—

And then Chester laughs shakily, a half-smile on his lips. “You sound like Sawyer. She raised hell down here once or twice when things got really bad. That always helped for a while?—a Solomon’s influence goes a long way, even for a neophyte hunter.”

Obie’s respect for Sawyer ticks up a few notches. “Does it still happen nowadays?”

“Not often. Last time was about a year ago. It mostly stopped once I passed my final exam and my actions didn’t reflect on Nostrand anymore, but…

” He lets out his breath in a hiss. “But I’m also more careful now.

I memorized where all the cameras are, planned escape routes from every room.

Tried to get on the other interrogators’ good sides. ”

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you, you know.” The words come out without Obie entirely meaning them to, but the instant he says them, he knows they’re true. “Not Nostrand, and not the others, either.”

Chester shakes his head. “You couldn’t do much about it.

Not without revealing the binding spell.

And?—?” He hugs his arms tighter across his chest. “And we can’t let that happen.

I can’t let that happen. I’m on thin ice already, Obie.

If things get any worse, I?—I don’t know how much more I can take. ”

Obie’s chest aches. Over the past month, he’s seen just how hard Chester tries, just how much effort he puts into everything he does, just how painstaking he is about every little detail??—

But, despite all that, he’ll never be good enough. Not for his fellow interrogators, not for the Council.

Not for the insidious system that bases his worth solely on his lack of hunting blood.

Obie needs to get him out of here. He needs to get Chester out of here and bring him back to Obie’s house and??—

His brain screeches to a halt.

That’s new. Obie wants to break the binding spell, obviously, to break the spell and leave the Sanctum and never look back, but??—

But he didn’t realize until now that he truly doesn’t want to leave Chester behind. Not anymore. He wants to get this stupid hunter?— Obie’s stupid hunter?—out of the Sanctum and show him the wonders of non-communal showering and let him sleep on a comfortable bed.

He wants Chester to defect from the Sanctum. Not to defect for Obie?—not like JJ did for Cass and Roma did for Ez?—but for himself.

And if he happens to stick close to Obie after he leaves, well, then, that’s his business. Obie wouldn’t protest to taking care of his fugitive ex-hunter for a few weeks while he finds his footing.

Maybe even longer.

Viciously, Obie forces his thoughts away from the strangely appealing idea of Chester curled up on Obie’s couch, a warm blanket draped over his shoulders and a mug of hot cocoa in his hands. “Well, if we keep the blinds open,” he says evenly, “then I won’t be able to help you anymore.”

Chester’s shoulders relax minutely. “I do this all the time, Obie. I don’t actually need the help. I mean, I appreciate it, but…”

Obie fights back a grimace. “Yeah, I know,” he says, leaning against the wall as Chester starts scrubbing. “I just… get bored.”

But “bored” isn’t the right word for it. Actually, it’s more like Obie wants to help him. Not to get him back on interrogation duty any quicker, but just??—

Just to help for the sake of helping. To do something nice for him. And maybe to repair his reputation around the prison a little faster, so the other interrogators will stop looking at him like he’s the scum on the bottom of their boots.

None of which Obie should care about. Not one bit. And Obie doesn’t care! Really, he doesn’t. He might have bonded a bit with Chester, but that’s all based on their current circumstances.

Once they break this binding spell, all of these mixed feelings will fade away. Obie will move on with his life, and he’ll never have to think about Chester Locke again.

Maybe if he tells himself that often enough, he’ll eventually start to believe it.