Page 37 of Take You Home (Redwater Demons #3)

C hester’s shoulder feels weird.

He rolls it out for the fifth time in approximately as many minutes, fighting back a grimace.

He’s spent the last two hours of his shift cleaning, sharpening, and polishing all the instruments in the stockroom, a task that he usually enjoys?—namely because it lets him avoid the rest of his coworkers.

Nowadays, though, avoiding his coworkers is a lot more fun when he has Obie by his side.

Chester shoves a drawer of scalpels back into place more aggressively than warranted, scowling.

Ever since he and Obie joined forces against the Sanctum a little over a week ago, the bond has started giving them more slack, allowing them to be farther apart for extended periods?—in fact, the last time they tested it, they could be on opposite ends of the building for over an hour.

Chester isn’t sure how to feel about the development. Six weeks ago, he just might’ve thrown a party to celebrate having some time away from Obie, but now??—

Now, his shoulder feels weird. Cold. Strangely light.

These days, Obie usually follows close behind Chester with his fingers wrapped around Chester’s shoulder, chatting with him through their telepathic connection while Chester does his day job and occasionally steals documents for the Conspiracy Fam.

Without Obie’s warm palm settled on Chester’s arm, he feels more alone than he really wants to admit.

He can’t deny that it’s practical, though.

Now that they’re not attached at the hip, Obie can prowl around the upper floors while Chester focuses on the prison, letting them steal twice as much intel.

Plus, there are certain areas of the Sanctum that Chester just can’t access as a neophyte hunter, whether they’re restricted to purebreds or off-limits entirely.

But there’s nothing stopping an invisible Obie from rifting into those rooms. If he’s sticking to their plan for today, then he’s currently sneaking around the five Council members’ offices, leafing through file cabinets and rifling through desks.

Chester feels a vindictive sort of pleasure from knowing that Obie is snooping through Councilwoman Nasir’s personal belongings.

Neither of them knows for sure why the binding spell is giving them a longer leash now.

Obie suspects that it might be losing some of its power?—all magic has an expiration date, after all?—but since Chester made an unknown error in the pre-casting process, there’s no way to check.

They could hypothetically use the telepathic link’s built-in lie detector to test their theories, but secretly, Chester is relieved that they haven’t.

Because he has the sinking feeling that this sudden change is less about the binding spell itself and more about the individuals involved in it.

Specifically, about Chester, and Chester’s feelings towards Obie, and how those feelings have shifted from active antagonism all the way to something mortifyingly reminiscent of a crush.

It’s a shift that Chester hasn’t fully come to terms with yet, and obviously, there’s no way he’ll ever admit it to Obie himself.

But it’s gotten to the point where Chester wants to have Obie around, wants to talk to him at all hours, wants to feel the comforting weight of his hand on Chester’s shoulder.

Chester kind of wants Obie to touch him in other ways, too, but he’s not even entertaining those thoughts right now?—partly for his own sanity, but mainly because it’s clear that Obie doesn’t feel the same way.

Hell, Obie seemed excited by the idea of the binding spell losing its power, whereas even considering it makes Chester’s chest hurt.

The bond is what keeps him close to Obie. In Chester’s mind, that makes it worth every inconvenience.

But, binding spell or not, they’re going to stick together until Chester steals every scrap of intel he can and leaves the Sanctum behind for good.

He and Obie have already made contingency plans for the possibility of Chester getting caught, which?—given how rapidly he’s bleeding the prison and the library dry?—he’s starting to think is increasingly likely.

Obie is confident that he can get Chester out of the Sanctum in one piece, though.

And his goal is for them to steal at least a file cabinet’s worth of classified material from Councilwoman Nasir’s office on the way out.

It’s exactly the sort of petty victory that makes Chester want to kiss his demon god on the mouth.

Right on cue, a jab of pain twists through his stomach. Nothing too harsh, but just enough to make itself known.

Despite himself, Chester smiles. The binding spell might be giving him and Obie more slack, but it still doesn’t like when they’re apart for too long.

From past experimentation, Chester knows that Obie is starting to experience the same mild symptoms, letting him know that the binding spell is losing its patience .

Good. That means Chester will get to see Obie again soon. Humming to himself, Chester slides the last drawer onto its shelf, surveys the room to make sure nothing is out of place, heads towards the door??—

It opens of its own accord. “Where the hell have you been, Locke?” Nostrand demands, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Chester’s stomach drops. Right. The biggest downside to cleaning the stockroom: no windows, no cameras, and only one escape route. He swallows hard. “Um, here. I, uh, told Safadi that I’d be organizing the stockroom for a few hours.”

“Useless,” Nostrand mutters, although Chester isn’t sure if he’s referring to Safadi or Chester himself. “Well, the Council just assigned another job?—Rooms 21 and 22 need to be cleaned to accommodate some late transfers. Everyone else is busy, so that’s on you.”

Two rooms to clean with less than ten minutes left in Chester’s shift. Somehow, he’s not surprised. “I’ll start them right now,” he says, taking a step forward and mentally willing Nostrand to move aside so Chester can get to the door.

Nostrand, though, doesn’t budge. His eyes narrow. “What are you up to, Locke?”

All the blood rushes from Chester’s head at once. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird for days now. Volunteering for every time-consuming job, disappearing for hours on end, barely interacting with anyone. Staying out of sight as much as possible.” He leans forward. “I’ve known you for over a decade. I can tell when you’re up to something.”

“I?—?” Chester’s pulse roars through his veins, hard and frantic. Nostrand can’t possibly know that Chester has all but defected, can he? “I’ve just been trying to keep my head down and do my job, okay? I want the Council to put me back on interrogation duty, and??—?”

“Bullshit. You hate interrogation duty.”

Even though the words are true, they still cut through Chester. “I don’t hate? ? —?”

Nostrand scoffs. “Yes, you do. You’ve hated interrogating since the very start. Why do you think it took me so long to hand you a knife and tell you to get to work? You couldn’t handle it. Still can’t, by the looks of it.”

Chester’s temper spikes. Given everything that Sawyer said about how he should never have been an interrogator and everything the Council has done to keep him isolated, he knows that it doesn’t matter, that it shouldn’t matter??—

But damn it, it matters anyway. “You didn’t teach me actual interrogation until the Council ordered you to because you didn’t think I was a real hunter,” he bites out. “You thought I would just be good for grunt work and nothing else.”

Nostrand’s lip curls. “Well, it looks like I was right, doesn’t it?”

Chester’s blood boils. Unbidden, his eyes dart to the drawer to his left, just within arm’s reach.

The drawer with all the freshly sharpened knives.

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to grab a blade and attack Nostrand before he even knew what hit him.

No one would come looking for him, not immediately.

Obie will be back at Chester’s side within a few minutes, so they could be long gone by the time anyone thought to question Nostrand’s absence. It would be so easy? ? —

A warm hand settles onto Chester’s shoulder. He almost starts with surprise. When we take the Sanctum down, Obie’s voice whispers in his mind, he’s going to be the first one I burn alive.

All at once, Chester feels like he can breathe again. He carefully unclenches his fists, meeting Nostrand’s gaze. “Rooms 21 and 22, you said?” he asks, and he’s taken aback by how much steadier his voice sounds.

Nostrand’s eyes flicker. “Yes.”

“Consider it done.” Chester nods cordially at Nostrand, edges past him to the door, and escapes into the hallway before he can say anything else.

Obie’s hand stays firm on Chester’s shoulder as Chester speed-walks across the prison. He gave you a late job again?

Yep.

What a prick.

Chester stifles a laugh as he strides towards the interrogation rooms. Preaching to the choir here, Smith. You have great timing, too?—I was starting to debate the pros and cons of stabbing him and defecting on the spot.

Probably for the best that you didn’t, Obie says, although I do love it when you choose violence.

Inwardly, Chester preens. He fights back a grin as he shoulders his way into the first interrogation room on the left, heading towards the supply closet. Obie?

Yeah, puppy?

Weeks ago, that nickname was annoying at best and condescending at worst. Nowadays, though, Chester’s heart wants to melt into a puddle every time Obie says it. Have I been acting weird lately?

Weird? No. Obie briefly falls silent as Chester pulls out his cleaning supplies, setting a bucket under the faucet to fill up with water. Different? Yes.

The words take Chester off guard. Even though Obie is invisible, Chester shoots a frown in his direction anyway. Really?

Yeah. You seem happier. More grounded. Less anxious. There’s another pause. It’s a good look on you, Locke.

Chester’s heart twirls. Even though he knows that the odds of Obie returning his feelings are slim to none, even though he knows that their banter is more teasing than flirtatious??—

Even though Chester knows all that, it’s moments like these that make his stupid little crush sink that much deeper into his soul. Thanks, Obie, he pushes through the bond, and they fall into companionable silence as Chester gets to work.