Page 9 of Take You Home (Redwater Demons #3)

C hester barely sleeps.

Honestly, when he wakes up bleary-eyed and exhausted the next morning, he has a dazed moment of surprise that he fell asleep at all.

Between the horror of the binding spell going so catastrophically wrong and his fury at himself for screwing it up in the first place, there are a lot of reasons why Chester spent most of the night tossing and turning.

But the biggest reason, of course, is still sitting right where Chester left him last night: on Chester’s rolling chair with his feet kicked up on Chester’s desk, scrolling through his cell phone.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Smith says without preamble, not even glancing Chester’s way.

“Let’s get moving, puppy. We need to head down to the prison and figure out how to break this binding spell. ”

Chester slowly pushes himself up to sitting, rubbing his eyes. “‘Puppy’?”

“Yeah. Not only are you about as threatening as a particularly small dog, but you’re also as stupid as one.” Smith gestures meaningfully towards the door. “Come on. Chop-chop. I need to get my hands on that spell book.”

“Do you have an ‘off’ button?” Chester snaps, rubbing his temples. “I literally just woke up.”

“You say that like I actually care.”

Chester throws him a withering look, stumbling to his feet and walking towards the closet. “I need to shower.”

Smith twitches, glancing around. The door to the half-bath is ajar, revealing a cramped space only large enough for a toilet and a sink. “You don’t have a shower.”

“I do not,” Chester says shortly, grabbing his interrogator uniform. “The communal showers are down the hall. After that, I need breakfast. And after that, I’ll be on duty. Like I said, it’ll be suspicious if I go there too early before my shift.”

A scowl twitches on Smith’s face. “Great. This just keeps getting better and better.”

Chester ignores the remark, leading the way out of his room. Smith vanishes from sight just before he steps through the doorway, and Chester pointedly doesn’t think about all the damage the demon could do while he’s invisible in the very heart of the Sanctum.

Right now, though, Chester doesn’t know what else to do.

He texted Bryant last night to beg out of this morning’s training session, but that only buys him an extra hour or so to figure out his next moves?—less, if she tracks him down in the dining hall to ask why he ditched her.

Telling her what happened is out of the question; even if Smith can’t injure Chester, there’s nothing preventing him from hurting Bryant to keep her quiet.

Chester suppresses a shudder at the thought.

He considered just texting Bryant?—or even Councilwoman Nasir?—to ask for help, but Smith threw Chester suspicious looks every time he picked up his phone last night. He doesn’t want to risk the demon stealing it and seeing any incriminating messages in his chat history.

There’s no one Chester can turn to. Not without putting them in danger.

And Chester himself is in the greatest danger of all. He swallows hard, his stomach twisting itself into knots. Smith might not be able to hurt him right now, but once they break the binding spell, all bets are off. They’ll officially be at war again.

And considering how livid Smith was last night, Chester has a bad feeling about his chances of survival without the spell’s forced ceasefire. He’s trying not to think about that too hard, though.

To his eternal relief, the communal showers are nearly empty when he arrives.

He speeds through his own even faster than usual, not wanting to be vulnerable in front of Smith for any longer than strictly necessary, and fumbles on his interrogator uniform before jogging back into the hallway.

Two staircases down to the dining hall on the first floor, accepting his breakfast tray from the cooks, sitting at an abandoned table in the far corner??—

“Wow. They actually feed you prison food here. I thought JJ was exaggerating.”

Chester tenses, glancing around, but there’s no one close enough to hear Smith’s voice. Pointedly, he fixes his eyes back on his admittedly soggy bacon, egg, and cheese bagel, taking an enormous bite.

“Will you relax? I cast a soundproofing spell before we even left your room. No one’s going to hear us.”

Chester almost starts with surprise, glancing in the direction of Smith’s voice. “Smart,” he mumbles grudgingly, pretending to take a sip of orange juice to hide his mouth. “But I don’t want anyone to see me talking to myself.”

“They apparently think you’re a pariah already. I doubt you could make it any worse. ”

Chester fights back a flinch. Judging by Smith’s dismissive tone, it was just a throwaway remark, but the words cut deeper than Chester cares to admit.

“The less I talk, the faster I can eat,” he bites out, tearing off another vicious piece of his bagel.

“And the faster I eat, the faster we can get down to the prison.”

“Touchy,” Smith drawls, but he falls blessedly silent after that.

Chester wolfs down his food, quickly deposits his tray back at the counter, and strides down the hallway towards the prison, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone around. “I can’t spend too much time in the spellcasting library,” he whispers. “Too suspicious.”

“I’ll just take the spell book with me and read it while you work.”

“Not that easy. None of those books are allowed to leave the room. If anyone checks, they’ll see that I was the last one there.”

“Again, you seem to be mistaking me for someone who cares.” There’s a beat of silence. “I’ll take a few pictures of the incantation on my phone. It’ll be easier than lugging around an entire spell book, anyway.”

Reluctantly impressed, Chester nods. “That should work.”

They fall silent as they descend the staircase and approach the basement prison, giving Chester time to school his expression into careful neutrality before swiping his key card at the door.

Even though he’s early for his shift, it’s not enough to raise any eyebrows, and he slips down the main hallway without anyone sparing him a glance.

Holding cells to his right, interrogation rooms to his left??—

A sharp intake of breath behind Chester nearly stops him cold. Swallowing hard, he forces his pace to stay casual.

Just over two months ago, Smith and Esmeralda Laguerre snuck into this very prison and broke out almost every demonic prisoner inside.

It didn’t take long for the cells to fill up again?—other Sanctums have been sending demons and dissidents to Redwater in droves lately?—but Chester doubts Smith knew that before today .

Looks like they’ll be expecting another jailbreak once the binding spell is broken. Chester just hopes he’ll still be alive to warn the Council about it.

A quick left around a cluster of interrogation rooms, and the door to the restricted spellcasting library comes into view ahead of them.

Chester swipes his key card and slips inside, relieved when he sees The Magic-Weaver’s Companion right where he left it.

“Here,” he says, tugging it off the shelf and flipping to the correct page. “This is the spell I used.”

Immediately, the spell book is pulled from his hands.

“Peachy,” Smith says, rippling back into view as he skims over the incantation.

“This doesn’t look like the exact spell that was used to bind me the first time, but it’s concerningly close.

And…” An edge of tension creeps into his voice.

“And, based on my knowledge of spellcasting, it should’ve worked. ”

Unease creeps down Chester’s spine. “So what does that mean?”

“It means that, to absolutely no one’s surprise, you screwed up.

” Smith digs out his cell phone, snapping a picture of the page.

“But I’m not sure if you messed up the spell itself or just the pre-casting process, and we’ll need the full text of the incantation you actually used?—errors and all?—to create the counterspell. ”

Shame and resignation curl through Chester in equal measures.

Of course it was his fault. He knew better than to muck around with pre-WMSA spells. Even Roma only chose one as a last resort, and she’s a much stronger spellcaster than him. “I can tell you everything I did,” he says quietly. “Walk you through my process.”

Smith scoffs. “Yeah, no. The human memory is notoriously fallible, and?—?” Suddenly, he cocks his head to one side, considering. “But I can fix that. Give me your hand. Like you said, they don’t call me the Memory-Keeper for nothing.”

Chester jerks away, his heart hammering in his chest. “Absolutely not. I had enough of you scraping through my brain the first time, thanks.”

“It’s not painful if you give me permission, Locke,” Smith snaps. “JJ described it as a mild tingling, barely even noticeable.” He stretches out a hand, waggling his fingers. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“No,” Chester says flatly. “I’m not giving Nostringvadha access to all my knowledge about the Sanctum.”

Smith sneers. “Please. You’re a neophyte hunter. You really think you know anything Roma hasn’t already told us? Or Sawyer?”

The words carve into Chester almost as much as Smith’s “pariah” comment earlier. Does Smith know that the bloodlines hierarchy is a sore subject with Chester? Or is he just trying to taunt Chester with reminders of Redwater’s newest?—and oldest?—defectors?

Either way, Chester isn’t compromising. As an interrogator, he does sometimes overhear classified intelligence that not even most purebreds are supposed to know. He doesn’t want to risk any of that getting back to the Sanctum’s enemies. “Still not happening.”

Smith’s eyes darken. “Last chance to do this the easy way.”

Fear spikes through Chester. “You wouldn’t dare.”