I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to fall within myself, searching for that unexplainable power. No other option presented itself other than joining Hephaestus in his shop for all eternity—and I’d be damned to work for the rest of my life. Searching deep within my soul for any traces of magic, I found nothing but darkness and pain. Or maybe that was just my newest round of injuries overriding everything else. Why hadn’t I just stayed in Xander’s apartment like a good, home-arrested boy?
I placed my palm on the ground for support, so I could sit up and struggle with the Automaton’s grip. I planted my hand into a puddle, and my fingers punched deep into the cold…
Cold what?
It wasn’t water, because it hadn’t rained in a couple of days, and it didn’t feel wet. It felt like air—like I’d put my hand into a hole. As I pondered that thought, my entire body followed my arm, and I fell into a cold void.
3
For a second nearing on instantaneous, I was suspended in nothingness. Then, faster than a chicken says bawk, I sat on solid ground again.
The squeezing pressure where the Automaton had gripped my wrist had faded, leaving a throbbing pain and wet blood. The gunshots had silenced, and the officers’ voices shouting into their radios had ceased. My eyes remained pinched closed. I’ll be honest with you, I was afraid to open them. The last thing I wanted to see was Hephaestus’s workshop spread out before me and that deformed Nephil standing smug and victorious. Except I didn’t hear the machinery. I didn’t smell the smoke. I didn’t feel the powerful presence of a Nephil.
Braving my fears, I opened one eye, cringing at what I might see. The back of a cream-colored sofa rose over my head. Behind me, I saw a familiar-looking kitchen with hardwood flooring, black-granite countertops, and white cabinets.
Xander stood in the center of the kitchen, holding a glass of water in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He wore a gray suit that fit a little snug around his muscular physique. His bald head glowed beneath the light fixtures.
Somehow, I had returned to his apartment—with him in it. Probably the second worst outcome.
“Joey,” he said, lowering his phone from his ear, tapping the screen, and setting it on the counter.
Xander—quick recap time—worked as an investigator at Mather Investigative Services, a private agency that often contracted with local, state, and federal departments to investigate the more unexplainable crimes and mysteries in the world. The agency also served private citizens who were too embarrassed to take their ghost story to the police, or who were laughed out of the building by their local law enforcement.
Pretty hilarious that even though MIS made a shit-load of money and took on even more cases than local law enforcement, their clients usually don’t even believe in the supernatural world. Humankind has to be about the dumbest type of species in existence.
I’ve known Xander since we attended Militus University together. After I accepted my pact with Hephaestus, Xander and I—along with Callie—served under a top-secret supernatural branch for the United States military as part of our contract with Militus. We fought overseas against all different types of Cursed, Acolytes, and Sorcerers who had allied with America’s enemies. After three tours of hunting these supernatural beings, our obligations were met. Callie and I decided to start a life together, and Xander accepted a job with MIS. Instead of killing monsters, though, Xander now tried to rehabilitate them—whatever that meant. I’d dealt with Cursed for quite a while, and I firmly believed there was no such thing as rehabilitation.
“Hey,” I said, grinning. My entire head caught fire with pain, the effects of getting kicked in the face by an Automaton. “Didn’t expect—” I grimaced. It really hurt to speak. The alternative was to stay quiet, and that would have been even more painful. “Didn’t expect for you to be home this early.”
Xander narrowed his eyes and parted his lips to say something. He closed them again, frowning. He stuck his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother figuring out where to begin with her chronically disobedient child. “You left the front door open.”
I snorted a laugh that sent sharp jabs into my brain and nose. “Did I?”
“Water on the hardwood in the entryway.” Did he mean the foot prints? “Popcorn and empty beer cans all over the floor. Are you drunk already? It’s barely noon. And,” he held up a finger, “why do you look like you joined a fight club?”
“That’s a lot at one time, so I’ll address what I remember. First, awesome movie reference. I never would’ve guessed you’ve seen that one.”
“What movie?” he asked, face somber.
Not knowing if he was joking or not, I moved on. “Second, it’s being married to you that makes me drink this way. You make my life a living hell.”
“Do I?” He shrugged. “Then move out. It’s not like I’m begging you to stay. Find a job and an apartment. While you’re at it, maybe buy your own wardrobe.”
“Wow. That’s a real shot to the old baby-maker,” I said.
“What happened? I thought we had an understanding that you’d stay inside the condo until we figured something out. With Nephil trying to kill you and law enforcement trying to arrest you, what could have possibly inspired you to go outside in a bathrobe?” He shook his head and waved his hands. “Never mind—I don’t think I want to know. More importantly, how did you appear out of thin air? And why is Serendipity on my television?”
I massaged my throbbing temples. “Why wouldn’t Serendipity be on your television you misogynistic pig?”
I wouldn’t testify to this in court, but I’m pretty sure Xander’s lips quivered, as if they wanted to smile but
