“Maybe,” John said.
No one said much of anything more until they arrived back at the apartment. Ryan left to get his things, check out of his hotel, and move to the one down the street where Zahira was staying. Zahira went back to her room to decompress, so it was just Caleb, John, and Night for a bit.
Night continued to lurk in the corner. Caleb followed John into the bedroom to drop his overnight bag on the bed. “We got the fifolet,” he said.
“I got your text,” John said. “I knew you could handle it.”
He didn’t ask for any more details, which…well, he had a lot on his mind, and he had confidence in them. Which was fine. Caleb already knew how to get John to relax.
“So, we got you a little something,” he said teasingly.
John looked up and blinked. “What?”
“A present, sort of.” Caleb took the bag out of the dresser where he’d hidden it and held it out to John. “Go on, open it.”
John took out the coffin-shaped bath bomb and stared at it in confusion.
“It’s a bath bomb,” Caleb clarified. “And there’s a scented candle, and some chocolate. It has raspberry—you do like raspberry, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
His reaction was a little less enthusiastic than Caleb had hoped. “No problem. I figured a romantic evening might help you relax a little.” He stalked closer, sliding his arms around John’s waist from behind and nuzzling his neck. “We’ll draw you a hot bath, light the candle, maybe wash your back.” Gray floated close to the surface, and Caleb nipped lightly at John’s skin. “Get you all nice and powered up.”
John pulled away. “Another time, okay? I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”
Oh. Caleb hid his disappointment. “Sure. We understand.”
“I know it’s early, but I’m going to bed.”
At loose ends, Caleb drifted back out into the living room. “John did not like our gift?” Gray asked uncertainly.
It’s not that. He’s just not in the mood. Once he’s less tired and preoccupied, I’m sure he’ll be happy to show his appreciation.
Gray considered. “Perhaps we should offer him our blood.”
It was something they could do, anyway. If John didn’t want to power up the usual way, Gray could open a vein long enough for him to get a hit of etheric energy and super-charge his exorcist ability.
Except…oh shit. That was what the whole fucked up experiment had apparently been about.
“This is different,” Gray protested. “We are not a demon.”
It is different, because it’s consensual. But that doesn’t mean it might not bring back memories, now that John has access to them again.
Fuck. Caleb dropped down on the couch and buried his face in his hands. They needed to talk about this—really talk. First thing tomorrow, before anyone else came over, they’d lay out their concerns to John and find out if it was just all in their heads. Ask what he needed from them.
Whatever it was, they’d give it to him. They’d all get through this, one way or another. Together.
The knock on the door came far too early.
John blinked awake, head aching. He reached out blindly, but Caleb’s side of the bed was cold. Had he even come to sleep?
The murmur of voices came from the living room. Stifling a groan, John sat up. Dawn light trickled reluctantly through the blinds as he pulled on his clothes from the day before.
When he stepped out to find Tiffany at their table, his heart lifted even as a sort of queasy nervousness filled his stomach. “The hard drive?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Tiffany said. Even this early, she looked perfectly put together, from her hair to her makeup to her Louboutin shoes.
“Sorry.” He offered her an apologetic smile. “It’s been a rough few days.”
“So Caleb was telling me.” She jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen, where Caleb had gone to prep the coffee. “He didn’t give me any details, but he said SPECTR-RD was up to more than we realized.”
“I’m sure you kept a copy of the files from the hard drive for yourself, so let me know what you think after you read them,” John said. When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “You’re no fool, Tiffany, and the Vigilant didn’t survive centuries by passing up free intel.”
She inclined her head. “True enough.” Reaching into her purse, she took out a thumb drive and held it out to him. “Here you go. Everything on the drive, decrypted and ready to be opened on your laptop.”
His hand trembled as he took it from her. There were answers here. Big ones.
Answers as to who he really was. And maybe, in a way, answers as to what SPECTR really was. Who Walsh had been reporting to. How far up this had gone.
Or he might be getting ahead of himself. John forced himself to take a deep breath, to calm his racing heart.
“You want any coffee, Tiffany?” Caleb asked as he set a cup in front of John.
“No.” She rose to her feet. “I have to get going.”
“Hold on a sec.” Caleb went to the bedroom, then returned carrying a painting. He must have stuck it in the closet out of the way, because John hadn’t spotted it earlier. He held it up so Tiffany could get a clear view: a young Black woman in a dress from the first part of the 1800s, surrounded by darkness but holding a lantern high. A moth fluttered around the lantern, the edge of one wing obscuring the curve of her cheek. Her eyes stared straight at the viewer, fierce and determined.
“This is Papillon,” Caleb said from behind the painting. “Gray and I painted it. It’s from memory, except for the colors.”
Tiffany’s lips parted as she stared at the image of her long-ago ancestress. Papillon had been a placée in this very city, who’d founded the Vigilant after a chance encounter with Gray. Her ongoing legacy had shaped Tiffany’s entire life.
Tiffany took a step forward, lifting her hand, but didn’t touch the paint. “That was her? What she looked like?”
“Yes.” Caleb lowered the painting. “We painted it just after we got here, but now that you’re back, I thought you should be the one to have it.”
She took it from him, lowering it when she felt the weight of the frame. “I’m…Thank you, Caleb. And Gray. This means a lot.”
Caleb shrugged awkwardly. “Want me to carry it down to your car for you? It’s unwieldy on the stairs.”
“Yes. Thank you.” She turned to John. “I’ll call you after I look at those files, and you can catch me up to speed on anything else you think I need to know.” She glanced at Night. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t screw up the second drakul in the meantime.”
As soon as the door closed behind her and Caleb, John grabbed his laptop, waited impatiently for it to boot up, and inserted the thumb drive.
A list of folders came up: SUBJECT INTERVIEWS, GRANT APPLICATIONS, EMAILS, TRASH, ABSTRACT, METHODOLOGY, SUBJECT PROFILES, and PICTURES.
John’s mouse hovered over them, going back and forth, unsure where to click. Then, finally, he swallowed hard and opened SUBJECT PROFILES.
Four sub-folders greeted him: 9-05-13, 10-06-1, 15-06-5, 19-06-9, and 21-06-11.