Page 18 of Caroled
Pride for his lover swelled in Charles’s chest. Tenrael had revealed himself willingly, in front of two Bureau agents, dangerous men who were sometimes charged with destroying creatures like him. And who, Charles realized, Tenraelliked. They’d given him his first opportunity to socialize like a normal person and had accepted him despite his unusual relationship with Charles. Showing himself like this was an act of pure courage.
“You’re the demon who got away,” Abe said softly.
“Charles freed me, but I returned to him. I am his now.” Tenrael lifted his chin. “Must you kill me?”
Charles stood—Tenrael’s shirts falling to the floor unheeded—and tucked the ring into his pocket. He always carried a gun in a holster at the small of his back, but he didn’t reach for it. He did, however, stand between Tenrael and their hosts. “If so, you’ll have to kill me first. Or at least try.” He flashed his most vicious smile.
But to his enormous relief, both Abe and Thomas shook their heads. “It’s bad luck to murder a dinner guest,” Abe said mildly.
“Even if he’s a demon?”
Abe opened his mouth to answer, but Thomas beat him to it. “Everyone in this room has killed. More than once. And some of the dead were innocent. None of us should rashly judge others.”
“I have never killed.” Tenrael’s voice had softened. “I carried nightmares. Perhaps some of those dreams indirectly led to deaths, but….” He shrugged, making his feathers rustle.
Charles found himself laughing at the irony—of the four of them, the demon had the most untarnished record. Maybe the others got the joke too, because they laughed with him. Even Tenrael joined in. Charles sat back down with a sigh, and Tenrael folded to his knees beside him.
By the time Thomas drank a shot of whiskey and Abe downed considerably more and Charles gave Tenrael’s wings a few strokes, the remaining tension had left the room. At their hosts’ requests, Charles and Ten told the story of how Tenrael had become a captive, what had happened to him during those long years, and how Charles had set him free. In return, Abe and Thomas spoke of the events that had originally brought them together. It also included, as it turned out, how Townsend had ended up as West Coast Bureau chief.
Charles shook his head with wonder. “I knew Townsend wasn’t, uh, normal. But neither am I. Still, I wouldn’t have guessed….” Apparently the world still had wonders in store for him.
“It’s been fourteen years and we’re still not used to the idea,” said Abe.
“Can I trust Townsend? He knows about Tenrael.”
Abe and Thomas exchanged looks. “I don’t trust anyone,” said Thomas. “But I don’t think he’d destroy Tenrael on a whim. Especially if he thinks you two might be useful to him. Which apparently you are.”
It wasn’t much reassurance, but it would have to suffice.
It was late by then, and Thomas’s face showed deep lines. His injuries were likely hurting, and he probably needed some sleep. Charles handed Tenrael the ring and shirts and then turned to their hosts. “Thank you for having us over to your home. And for… well, everything.”
“Thanks for coming. Thomas and I were getting desperate to talk to anyone but each other. Come back in a couple of weeks to celebrate Christmas. For the benefit of mygoyishebeloved, I even plan to get a tree.”
Charles and Tenrael had said good-night to Thomas in the living room and were putting on their coats near the door when Charles remembered something he’d been meaning to ask. “The Sea Dog was on the list you gave us,” he said to Abe.
“Yeah. It’s a dump, and they water their drinks if they think they can get away with it. But it’s a good place to overhear things. One of the bartenders passes information our way now and then in exchange for a few clams.”
“There was a singer there the other night. A boy—very pretty.”
Abe blinked. “Huh. I hope that joint isn’t trying to be classy, because it’s gonna take more than that.”
“The bartender said the kid was new, for the holidays. Do you think they’re pimping him out? He didn’t look happy to be there.”
“Could be.” Abe rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Not our jurisdiction. But you can call Detective Collins if you want. He’s on the list. If the kid’s willing to bend over for pay, Collins will let him be. But if the kid’s being forced… Collins can fix things. He’s not an honest cop, but he’s not a bad man.”
“Thank you.”
A heavy fog had settled over the streets, lending the city an otherworldly feeling. Charles liked it. Fog was similar to that wet strip of sand he liked so much on the beach: not quite solid, not quite insubstantial, a thing neither here nor there. Not exactly one thing or another. Kind of like him.
“Want to walk?” he asked Tenrael. It was a fair distance back to the hotel, but they were in no hurry, and he wouldn’t mind the exercise. And Tenrael was fond of the night.
Their footsteps sounded muffled, and the yellow light of streetlamps vainly fought the mist. Charles caught the sound of a foghorn, so faint that a man with ordinary hearing would have been unaware. A black-and-white cat dashed in front of them and between two houses.
“I liked them,” Tenrael said after a few blocks. “It was nice to spend an evening together.”
“It was brave of you to let them see who you are.”
“I used to be… lost. I became nothing. And then I met you and now I am becoming something new. I want your friends to see that.”
