It took liberal amounts of sodium peroxide mix to remove all the bloodstains. Everything from the mops to our chemical suits would have to be burned.
“What’s an oshk?” I scrubbed at a stubborn patch of something dark on the wall, unconvinced my thick rubber gloves were enough of a barrier between me and the goo. Clean up duty was exactly as awful as I’d anticipated. “That thing that ate the demons?”
Rohan placed a fresh bucket of water on the floor. “No clue. But if something that scares demons is in town? Something that had them all hiding last night?”
“Fuuuuuck.”
“Yeah.”
6
If the library had been a disaster before, it was ten times worse after our pointless search for any information on the oshk.
In theory, I was now recording all the serial numbers of the cash so Orwell, the Brotherhood intel department so nicknamed by Kane, could track its source. In practice, I was keeping a wary eye on Rohan and his string of Hindi-English cursing that had risen from a mutter to a couple of stages away from a roar.
I ruffled the bills. “Did you know that there are one hundred hundred dollar bills in each bundle?”
No response.
“I’ve got a cool half a mill here.” I shook the backpack. “I’m thinking a quick Google search on countries with no extradition treaty, book a flight, and we’re living large on a beach with umbrella drinks by happy hour tomorrow.”
Holding this much cash was so surreal that it almost lost all meaning. Not gonna lie, I was tempted to rip open the bundles and roll naked on them, but considering we’d commandeered the cash from a demon home, refrained.
Rohan flung a book on the table; it bounced and crashed to the floor.
“Okay,” I said, retrieving the book–and the laptop for good measure–and placing them on the far end of the table, “you’re done.”
Rohan turned glittering eyes on me, clearly wanting someone to fight with.
I spread my hands. “We’re in a holding pattern and getting mad at your people isn’t going to change that.”
Expression thunderous, he left the room.
I zipped up the backpack, setting my list of serial numbers on top, and leaned back in my chair, my chest tight. Work, relationship, saving the world–for Rohan and I, it was all tangled up. We even lived at Demon Club. There was no space for us to breathe.
My ex, Cole, had recently told me that when my snapped Achilles had destroyed my tap dance dreams, he’d had no idea how to comfort me. He hadn’t felt like I was in the relationship. I didn’t think that about Ro, but the fear of watching someone I cared about revert into bad behaviors and shut me out was all too real these days.
If we didn’t live up to Rohan’s relationship expectations or I became the fallout in the implosion of his feelings around the Brotherhood, his pattern would be he’d dump me without another look back and waltz into whatever new identity he crafted for himself. There would be no fighting for us or working through things. We’d be us and then we wouldn’t be anything.
I exhaled, hard. There might not be a way out of the pressure cooker we lived in, but maybe there was a way to alleviate some steam. I pulled out my phone and started researching my brilliant idea, leaning my elbows on the library table. This was supposed to be our honeymoon phase and honeymoon it we would.
“Sorry.” Rohan reappeared in the doorway, sounding genuinely contrite.
“That’s– juggling.” I squinted at the four red balls in his hands.
“Yeah. One of our roadies got me into it as a stress relief.”
“I can see how hot and cold running tour sex wouldn’t have the same appeal.” That earned me the ghost of a grin. “All those nights in the Vault. You’ve been juggling?”
“No. I’ve been beating the shit out of the bag.” He switched up his moves, catching the balls underhand. “But I figured that if yelling wasn’t going to help, then storming off wasn’t either.”
“Progress.” I crossed the room and settled into one of the leather club chairs, my legs tucked underneath me. “You’ve unleashed a lot of talents on me in the past few days, Snowflake.” I ticked the items off on my fingers. “Dancing, skateboarding, juggling.”
“The dancing I learned to help with my stage presence, the skateboarding was from growing up in L.A., and we had a lot of downtime on tour. I’m also the undisputed champion of Crazy Eights.”
“A true renaissance man. Or was that renaissance nerd?”
He threw a ball up, spinning to catch it behind his back. The tension in his body eased a fraction. “Admit it, you’re impressed.”
“I am.” I bounced a ball of electricity in my hand, then divided them into two.
“Cute.”
“You think?” The two balls became four, and I let them swivel on their own around my head while I scanned the page on my phone. This would do nicely. A couple of clicks and some expedited shipping and things were put into motion.
Ro laughed, the happiness I’d hoped for back in his eyes. “You’re a total shit. What are you looking at? Why the smug grin?”
I put the phone away and powered off my magic. “My other boyfriend wants to hook-up.”
“Great. I’ll call mine. Girlfriend,” he clarified, rolling his eyes at my crestfallen expression. “You’re so predictable.”
“You said it. Lots of downtime, a bus full of horny guys. Do the math.”
“That’s not–” His phone buzzed. Ro caught all of the balls one-handed, pulling the phone from his pocket. He scratched his jaw, reading the text, his expression cautiously optimistic. “Pretty up, Sparky. We’re going out.”
“Pretty is a step down for me, buddy. Wow. You really blew a compliment opportunity. Your other girlfriend can keep you.”
“Don’t want her,” he said, grabbing me in a headlock to kiss the top of my head.
“Ack.” I elbowed my way free. “What kind of pretty does the situation demand?”
“Mahmud’s in town.” Mahmud was the Rasha who’d recruited Rohan for the Askuchar job. Rohan quickly typed a response. “Told him to meet us at Lotus.”
Last time Rohan and I had eaten at Lotus, we’d had an incredible meal and a disaster of a conversation. The knives had come out on both sides. Whatever could I look forward to this time? Mahmud was Rohan’s friend, not just a fellow hunter. Had he told Mahmud he was dating me? Or had he left it out, since this was a professional meeting and not a personal one? What kind of look would even be appropriate for this dinner: badass girlfriend or hot comrade-in-arms?
Fuck appropriate. I jumped to my feet and snapped out a salute. “Prettying up, sir!”
“Hey.” He swung me back toward him, his eyes serious on mine. “I’m not going to break us, okay?” He stroked his thumb over my hand, radiating sincerity and the depth of his affection for me. This mattered so much to him. I mattered so much to him.