Page 32 of Grave Danger

The things Demmy had in mind for Cody were administrative tasks Cody could have sworn Demmy was making up just to keep him busy. Who needed to alphabetize their client files? For that matter, who kept hard copies of client paperwork anymore? And when had Demmy even created a file for each of their clients? That was some next level administrative witchcraft right there.

Cody frowned as he came across a file with a red tag across the tab. He sat back in the chair, not liking how it creaked beneath him. Damn cheap stuff from that office furniture warehouse over in Harriettville. Holding up the file, he spun the chair to look at Demmy who was busy working at his desk with his back to him. From this angle, and the way the neckline of Demmy’s T-shirt lay across the base of his neck, Cody could see the top edge of one of the scars left by Nicolae’s bite. His heart beat a little faster, and the familiar prickle of hot and cold needles flashed across his skin.

The events of the day had left him open to every emotion, because everything Demmy had sacrificed to save the people of this town roared into Cody, filling his chest with ice blocks of anxiety and tension. These blocks bonded together and made it difficult for his lungs to work correctly and pressured his heart to pound hard and fast. He lowered the file and blinked a few times to clear his suddenly blurred vision. Quick, shallow breaths at first helped his lungs remember their function, and he eased into longer, deeper breaths, even though his heart still beat fast.

All they’d been through over the years, and everything Cody had experienced the last couple of days swamped his mind and nervous system, overwhelming him. He couldn’t seem to fix his attention on anything for longer than a moment: familiar items in their office, his thoughts, nothing. A sudden vision of the mayor lurching out in front of his truck made him jump, causing the chair to creak beneath him, and his vision blurred as a wave of vertigo rolled over him like a rough surf.

Demmy looked over his shoulder, the scarred skin wrinkling with his movement.

“You okay?”

Cody’s brain was unable to choose the right words for a response. It didn’t seem to be able to find any words at all, actually. His mind was a complete blank as he stared back, his gaze moving from Demmy’s face to the puckered skin of his scar and up to his face again.

Thankfully, Demmy turned his chair to face him, putting the scars out of sight, and the steadily tightening feeling inside Cody’s chest suddenly released. He drew in a breath as his brain kicked back into gear.

“Cody?”

“Yeah,” Cody forced out, his voice sounding much too deep and very off to himself.

Demmy heard it, too, because he rolled his chair closer and put his hands on Cody’s knees. “You don’t look so good. You’re pale and your eyes are wide and a little glassy.”

“Might have been something I ate.”

“I think this is more than an upset stomach.”

“What’s the red tag mean?” Cody’s brain had latched onto his original question, and he thrust the file he still held—clung to, actually, like a lifeline to the office and this life they’d built together—toward Demmy.

“What? Oh, that. Those are, um, clients we’ve lost.”

Cody frowned. “To a competitor?”

“No, they… they’ve died.”

“Oh.” Cody drew the file back and looked at the name written on the tab. Clarence Simmons. Oh, yeah. He hadn’t put it all together before. Clarence had been the hipster house flipper who’d hired them to clear a bunch of rabbits out of his basement. It had been a job Jugs and Cody had gone on, and to which Cody had taken his niece, Summer.

And Clarence had become a victim of Nicolae in wolf form, murdered in a graphic and gory manner.

“I thought I had explained it to you before,” Demmy said.

Cody looked up and give him a smile, though it felt pretty lame. “You probably did, and I wasn’t listening.”

Demmy grinned and squeezed his knees, then kept his hands on them. Cody was grateful for his touch as it was working to help bring him back to this point, this space they were occupying within their office. They were both safe and healthy, and Cody was simply having a moment.

Or two. Maybe three, if he was honest with himself. It would seem hitting the mayor with his truck had really gotten to him. That and possibly the years of dealing with monsters that had preceded the impact. And the death of the Widow Monroe, as well.

“Cody?”

He looked into Demmy’s eyes, the irises so blue today, like the water off a Caribbean island. “Yeah?”

“I was saying maybe we should call it a day and go home. What do you think?”

“Yeah. That sounds good. I like the idea of going home.”

“We can do that.” Demmy leaned in a little closer, squeezing his knees again as he lowered his voice to whisper, “Codes.”

The smile came up from inside him, dragging behind it the warmth of a shared joke and the gentle aggravation Cody always felt toward his older brother, Grant, when he used that nickname.

“Don’t call me that.”