Night Terror

Chapter 1 By Wednesday, Dane was bored. He’d researched how to fry a ghost possession out of inanimate objects, drank, picked up the necessary materials from Javalynne’s, drank, burned away the lingering spirit of one Eliza Bartley, and drank a little more. Now it was midmorning Wednesday, one of his baristas had been a no-show, and Dane was bored out of his skull covering for the kid. Probably the bastard was sleeping in, or treating himself to any number of delicious hangover cures Dane would be better able to appreciate. “Really?” he asked a man who ordered a Dead Gourd Dhai Latte with just about every variation and additive available. The theme of Crypt Coffee—macabre in a windowless basement, full of bones and coffins—was cute, but customers’ orders were not. “Please,” said the man, tone just bitingly sarcastic enough for Dane to lean in close when he was finished and mess with him a little. Dane rested his tattooed arms on the counter, smiled just a fraction, made just a little too much eye contact. “Do I get a series of numbers for my phone to go with the series of things I had to do to this latte?” The man blinked at him and pulled back before snatching his wax cup and bolting. “Careful,” said the other barista behind the counter. “One of these days someone’s going to take you up on that.” He paused. “And don’t you have a boyfriend?” “Who friggin’ told you that, Logan?” “Winter.” “Well, she’s wrong, and the customers are piling up, so work faster.” Dane dashed off to get a few muffins from the kitchen, scowling. Sean wasn’t his boyfriend. No f*****g way. Sean was a bit of a sidekick, a bit of a fuckbuddy, and that was that. Besides, everyone knew he liked to make his customers uncomfortable—that was part of the appeal of Crypt Coffee anyway, that the guy who ran it was a complete asshole. The entire business was structured to be appealingly unappealing. Dane took his fun when he could get it. “Uh,” said Logan when he returned. “There’s a…guy here to see you, won’t buy coffee or anything, not even basic. I offered decaf and everything.” “I’ll deal with him later,” said Dane, and promptly ignored whoever the asshole was who was too stuck up to even buy a cookie. Dane didn’t bother to look his way as he assisted with the morning rush. People and their f*****g coffee—usually things didn’t let up much until after ten, and then there was a burst again around noon, and another midafternoon. When Dane got a chance to wander over to the man sitting alone in the booth, he was not expecting to find an Order representative. “What?” he asked. The representative looked up and smiled. “Dane Sanders? You have a place we could speak privately?” “I’m not making out with you, if that’s what you’re hoping,” said Dane, hoping to throw the man off, but he appeared unflustered by Dane’s manner. Figured. Dane led him back to storage, among the beans and flavor syrups, and shut the door. The man glanced around, coolly arrogant. His hair was perfect, his white face clean shaven, and his suit irritatingly professional. He had a lapel pin with the Order of Decrypters symbol on it—a dagger stabbing into an animalistic eyeball. It was how Dane had identified him. He crossed his arms. “What do you want?” he asked, but he knew what the man was here for. It had been about a week since Dane had turned in his report on the incident with the murdered woman and the witches. He’d killed a man—completely in self-defense—but the Order always looked into anything as big as this. “Agent Simmonds. I have a few follow-up questions on your most recent report.” “And you had to haul your ass all the way out to Bleu Falls, Wisconsin, to ask me?” asked Dane. He gave in to the frown his face wanted to make. “Simmonds. That your real name?” Simmonds smiled. Dane struggled not to punch him. “This will be painless. You can confirm for me here, in person, you shot the witch in self-defense?” “Yes.” “The Guild of Green Growers—the witches’ organization Percival Cauldwell belonged to—has submitted compelling evidence that your actions were overkill.” Simmonds’ smile vanished. “I saw the images. Swiss cheese comes to mind. Any reason why we shouldn’t bring you in for that?” Dane leaned back against the wall and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to think too much about the situation—remembering it was still rough. “The asshole had us tied up on an island in the middle of one of those magic nexus wells. You know those things you sent me here to look into? As punishment?” Simmonds said nothing to that, so Dane went on. “Over half a day there—that’s how long before we got out. You know how much that magic s**t messes with people’s minds. It was overkill because I didn’t know he was dead at first.” “Lucky for you you shot the right man, isn’t it? Why was the professor with you?” Dane looked away. He’d been expecting Sean to come up. Sean wasn’t supposed to know anything about Order business, and Dane really wasn’t supposed to be screwing him. But if the Order thought he was too involved, they’d wipe Sean’s mind. “Bastard got himself mixed up in it ‘cause Bethany was his student. He’s like a damn leech. Figured he’d back off once he had some whatever the hell that is, closure.” “Mmhmm,” said Simmonds, and moved to pick up a bag of whole coffee beans, sized for sale. He examined it like it was interesting, then replaced it, Dane watching all the while, refusing to let this stuck-up asshole make him squirm. “Closure. That’s what we all want out of this, isn’t it?” “Moving on’s not a problem for me.” “That’s why you filed no less than eight times to get stationed somewhere other than Bleu Falls when you were first assigned here.” Simmonds smiled again. “Don’t worry, I can keep a harmless secret. I’m here for what you kept off the record, after all.” “What makes you think I did?” asked Dane, glaring to the side. Agent Simmonds looked delighted. “Nobody brushes off someone like him. Unless…” He was referring to Sean. Dane had really been hoping they’d leave him the hell alone. He liked Sean. He breathed out hard. “Yeah, does the good professor look like my type? I didn’t f*****g leave anything out, agent. And I gave you all I could, considering my mind was halfway to mush-town.” “So the witch was working alone, like you should have been?” Dane wasn’t going to react to that. He scoured his mind for something he could give Simmonds to make the agent back off. “Percival mentioned his family, but he also mentioned his family not knowing he was handling it for them, to give you an idea on how trustworthy the bastard was.” “Ah. Anything specific about the Family?” For a second Dane thought he heard an uppercase F on the word, but that didn’t make sense. He was tired—had been running around all morning—and he hadn’t had a drink in a while. And this Simmonds guy was pissing him off. He shook his head. “No,” he growled. Simmonds sighed. “What? I could’ve told you you’d be coming out here for nothing. Everything’s in my report.” “About your reports. The Order has been lax about holding you to standard. But after the incident with the familiar back in Minnesota, and now this…” Simmonds trailed off, shook his head. “We’re going to be requiring you to not skip deadlines.” “Who am I to argue?” “And you’re to report in twice a week now. Every Monday morning, every Friday night, unless you’re in the middle of something—which you will inform us of before you take action.” “The f**k,” said Dane, uncrossing his arms. They were treating him like a new recruit on a six-month beginner’s period. “We could put you on trial instead,” said Simmonds, mildly, like it was a normal suggestion. Dane gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going on trial. He could deal with this crap briefly. “Back on six-month run-through?” “This is indefinite, Sanders. We’ll let you know. Thanks for your time.” Simmonds turned and paused at the door. “Not interested in how we feel about the professor?” “Should I be?” asked Dane. He was expecting Simmonds to give him something, but the man merely shrugged. “I suppose not,” he said, and left. Dane gnawed his lip and went down to his Lair. The coffee shop itself was built underground, but Dane had a room below even that, which he called the Lair. He kept it locked and well stocked—with booze as well as weapons. He went there now for a drink, and to worry. The Order seemed too interested in Sean to not go after him—maybe the professor could talk them out of the mind wipe. Dane knew Sean wasn’t particularly interested in becoming a Decrypter himself, but then when the options were that or losing everything that had happened the past few months… Dane was half tempted to drive across town, but Sean would be at the college, not at home, and Dane didn’t know his way around campus. He waited until night and then drove past Sean’s house, only to find it dark. This time of the year it got dark early and he figured Sean wasn’t in yet—from everything Dane knew, if the Order wiped a person’s memory, it was in the comfort of their own home. He got a burger instead. Sean hated fast food like this, thought it was s**t. It didn’t taste all that good to Dane just then either. f*****g Order agent, ruining his day, making him relive things, check on Sean. The professor would have been fine on his own otherwise. Dane drove past Sean’s home again later, relieved to find the lights on. He pulled into the driveway and parked, then hesitated. He didn’t want to look Sean in the face. Instead he grabbed his phone. Hey, he texted, They get you yet? Sean’s response was immediate. Who is this? Dane’s chest tightened. Either Sean suddenly didn’t know his number, or… Dane, asshole, he sent. Sean’s next response was as fast as the first, and made Dane feel worse. I don’t know you. Delete my number. Dane tossed his phone in the empty passenger seat and backed out of the driveway. So it’d happened. He felt numb all the way back to Crypt Coffee, but by the time he parked he’d convinced himself he was overreacting. It’s not like he and Sean had made a life together or anything. They would have stopped f*****g around at some point anyway. He’d have to live with it ending this way instead of naturally. At least, Dane would try.