3.

Sal leaned across Liam, who had drawn the short straw and gotten the center seat in the row on the flight to Dublin. “So are you regretting joining us again?” she asked Grace with a grin.

Grace exhaled, her nostrils flaring. “I’m not sure yet,” she said.

Luckily, most of Liam’s ex-girlfriends lived in the British Isles, so they could address most of them in a few days, if they hurried. As usual, they each kept to themselves, Liam surveying the Alcoholics Anonymous website, Sal reading a newspaper, and Grace reading a huge, dusty book she’d gotten from Asanti.

“That doesn’t look like a classic,” Sal said, trying to read the fading print on the spine and failing.

“Asanti let me look through the Vatican libraries. The non-dangerous ones,” Grace said. “I figured if Hannah is going to be hitting us close to home, I’d learn a little more about our home.”

“I think The Book Thief would be more of a page turner,” Sal said as Grace sneezed.

“I may drop by the airport bookstore,” Grace said, sniffling and squinting at the archaic type.

“Too bad she didn’t give you one of the good ones,” Liam said, eyes not leaving his computer. “The Vatican has a surprisingly large collection of ancient porn.”

“Ancient … porn?” Sal asked. Grace’s face grew pink as she attempted to read.

“Yeah. I’ve seen some of it. It’s pretty out there.” He frowned and clicked on the page. “Did you know I have to develop a new code of behavior? What does that mean?”

“Don’t fuck women when you’re messing around with demons?” Sal asked, and he elbowed her.

“Just saying,” she said, laughing.

“Maybe the Catholics wanted to better understand the demons they were fighting,” Grace said. “Like lust demons or something.”

Sal laughed at her. “Studying them? Oh come on, next you’re going to tell me that priests and nuns are really celibate and straight.”

Grace sobered and Sal kicked herself. Something was up between Grace and Menchú, something that had happened on a previous mission. Neither had responded to her gentle inquiries for information so she wasn’t sure, but she had always suspected there were some unspoken things between them.

“And once we reach ten thousand feet, we’ll be serving complimentary sodas and coffee and, for the woman in seat 18F, her own foot,” she said. Grace rewarded her with a ghost of a smile, but she opened the book and didn’t look up again.

Sal sat back and sighed. She’d felt like she’d been walking on eggshells around Grace lately, and wasn’t sure what was going on between them. She’d thought that once Grace rejoined them, it would all be okay again, but nothing was ever that easy.

“Who’s first on your list, Liam?” she asked. “What’s the name of the woman in Dublin?”

“K-Stag is first, then December, then Imogen. Imogen’s in Bath, but the other two are in Dublin. We can get to Bath tomorrow.”

“K-Stag? December?” Sal repeated their names as if they were foreign words.

“Did you ever date anyone normal?” Grace asked.

“Well, Imogen was pretty normal,” he said defensively.

“And me! I don’t have a stupid Internet name,” Sal said.

“December is her real name. She had hippie parents,” Liam said.

“Sure,” Grace said. “What’s K-Stag’s excuse?”

Liam didn’t answer her.

• • •

K-Stag lived in a small Dublin flat in a part of town that Sal didn’t want to ever visit again. Three people tried to sell them drugs and/or sex on the way to the flat—and they’d taken a cab to the building.

From the sidewalk, Liam looked up at the door, rubbing the back of his head. “You two wait here. She was really jealous, and if I show up with two women, she’s going to start out in a bad mood.”

“But we’re not—” Sal began. Liam waved her protest away.

“Doesn’t matter. She makes her own reality.”

Sal shrugged, and Grace sat down on the stoop. Liam went inside the apartment building.

Grace leaned her head back, looking at the gray sky. Sal read the names on the mailboxes, if only to ignore the drug dealer appraising her.

“What the hell kind of name is K-Stag anyway?” Sal asked.

“Is it on her mailbox?” Grace asked.

“I don’t see that name. There’s a Katiee with two e’s. Maybe that’s her.”

“If my name was Katiee with two e’s I might go by K-Stag too,” Grace said. “Maybe she identifies with a stag as her, I don’t know, spirit animal?”

“Yeah but I’ll bet everything I have that she’s not Native American.”

“Maybe she’s stupid. Maybe she’s genderqueer. Maybe it’s none of our business,” Grace said, closing her eyes and reclining against the stairs as if they were an easy chair.

“I guess you’re right.” Sal walked over and joined Grace. The stoop was narrow, and their thighs touched as she sat down. Already crammed against the edge, Grace inched further from her.

“Did he tell you what he did to this one?” Grace asked, eyes still closed.

“Treated her ‘poorly,’ was all he said. He was a love ’em and leave ’em type. I think he may have also introduced them to the Network.”

“Maybe he also got someone into a situation that turned their legs into tent—” A door opened behind them, and Grace clammed up.

Liam stuck his head outside. “Going to take a bit longer than I thought,” he said. Someone screamed at him inside. A glass something shattered against the wall, and he flinched. “Why don’t you two go out for a bite to eat or something?”

He disappeared and slammed the door, and the screaming continued.

“Maybe ‘stag’ stands for Screaming Terrifying Angry Girl?” Grace said, finally opening her eyes.

“At least now it does,” Sal said, and got to her feet. Grace rose next to her.

“There’s a pub down the road,” she said, and started walking.

“I think K-Stag could use a drink more than we could,” Sal ventured.

Another breakable thing shattered behind the closed doors. “I think she’s getting what she needs,” Grace said. “Sounds like closure to me.”

• • •

They sat next to each other at the bar. Grace had chosen the bar stools instead of a booth, which seemed odd to Sal since Team Three rarely liked to have public conversations.

Grace stared at her white wine. Sal sipped at her beer and fidgeted on her stool. Finally she said, “All right, I know you’re not still trying to figure out why her name is K-Stag. What’s going on with you?”

Grace took another drink of her wine, stalling, Sal thought. She downed it in one gulp and motioned to the bartender for another one.

“I don’t like a lot of change,” she finally said.

Sal frowned. “Well, the world has changed a lot around you while you slept. And most of your life has been affected by change. For the worse.” Sal paused. That sounded obvious and stupid. “I mean, stability is where you find peace. It makes sense that you’re unsettled by change.” She fiddled with the wet napkin under her pint glass. “What specific change are you worried about right now?”

“Going from Team Three to Team One, and now I’m back with you guys,” she said. “I am starting to doubt my decisions, not to mention doubt my”—she paused, searching—“what I want in my life.”

“Well, what do you want?” Sal asked helpfully.

Grace gave her a long, slow, disdainful look. “If I knew that, we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

“No, you said you doubted what you wanted. Not that you didn’t know. What is this about, anyway? Team switches?”

Grace picked up her wine glass and didn’t look at Sal.

“You know you’re being difficult here,” Sal said, trying to catch Grace’s eye in the mirror behind the bar. “I can’t help if you don’t answer the questions.”

“Who said I wanted your help?” Grace said.

Sal waited a beat to make sure she’d heard Grace right. “You did. When we became friends and fought demons together and saved each other’s lives about a hundred times. When you say you want my help when we’re fighting a demon from hell, I sort of assume you want my help when it comes to problems that are harder to punch.” She poked Grace in the arm. “Those are the problems you have more trouble with.”

Grace sighed and the tension went out of her shoulders. “You’re right. Why can’t we just punch the real problems in life?”

“You can punch demons. Even Norse. But you can’t punch the Vatican. Or Fox. Or Sansone,” Sal said. “Or Menchú.”

“I could punch them,” Grace corrected, smiling slightly. “I just probably shouldn’t.”

Sal laughed and settled onto her barstool, feeling as if a bullet had whizzed by her, and she was only glad that it hadn’t hit her.

Grace sobered. “But you’re right. My world is black and white. I don’t have a lot of room for grays. The fact is, Sal …” She finally met her friend’s eyes, and Sal was shocked to see them slightly wet. “I don’t have time for grays. I wake up. Punch shit. Go to sleep. The gray problems are solved without me.”

“You also read, and spend time with us, and make fun of Liam, and spar with me,” Sal said gently. “You do have more going on than you admit. Even if we aren’t gray, per se.”

“You’re gray,” Grace said, her face suddenly naked with emotion. “You’re very gray. Menchú is gray. Asanti is—I don’t even know what color. See, Sal, Team One is black and white. I fit in there: Wake up. Punch shit. Go to sleep.”

“Then why are you here?” Sal asked, anger flaring. “If you’re so unhappy and don’t know what to do with us, why did you come back?”

“Because this is home,” Grace said immediately. “And if I am not home, then I might as well just stay asleep.”

Sal let Grace compose herself and instead focused on the television behind the bar. A football match was just starting. Then she reached out and took Grace’s hand. It lay limp within her own, but then, slowly, her fingers curled to hold Sal’s. “We’re glad to be your home, Grace. I’m glad to be your home.”

Grace smiled slightly, and for a moment Sal thought she wasn’t going to let her hand go, but she did. Then Sal noticed a definite shift in Grace’s mass. She took a deep breath and the tension left her shoulders completely. Sal felt the reassuring pressure of Grace’s knee against hers as they sat side by side.

When Liam found them an hour later, they were yelling at the television to support Arsenal, along with the rest of the pub. They didn’t comment on his swollen lip.

• • •

Liam collapsed back onto Sal’s bed, swearing at the ceiling. “I can’t fucking believe you went drinking without me,” he said.

“You told us to,” Sal said, unpacking her overnight bag onto the dresser. Grace was in the tub.

“Yeah, but you were supposed to stay,” Liam said. “Fight me! Support me even if I push you away!”

“Is that what you really want?”

“No. What I really want is a pint.”

“Did she eventually forgive you?” Sal asked. “That K-Stag person?”

“Yeah. Well, no. Not really,” Liam said. “She said she would forgive me if I jumped into hell and never bothered her again. And I tried to explain how that was very literally something I could do for her, but she didn’t want to hear about it.” He sighed mightily. “Whatever. I said what I needed to say to her. That’s done.”

They’d gotten two hotel rooms and unpacked after the much-less-eventful visit to hippie-descended December. She hadn’t been home, but her apartment had been in a much fancier part of town than K-Stag’s. Grace had said something about how the name made the person, but Liam ignored her.

Liam left December a note.

“What time is the ferry to Wales?” Sal asked.

“Eight in the morning,” he groaned.

“Then we should get some sleep.”

“Right,” he said, and got up. He straightened his shirt and smiled at her. “To the bar, then?”

“Naturally,” she said.

• • •

Sal woke up with her mouth tasting like fur and her head pounding. Grace dressed, looking as if she had been up for hours. She handed Sal an orange sports drink.

“What—God,” Sal said as her headache spiked.

“What God, yeah,” Grace said. She sat on her bed, which was already made. She should know she didn’t have to make a bed in a hotel room. “You and Liam shared stories last night of lost loves. We learned of the tragic story of December, and the tragic story of Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Sal said. Ryan had been her unrequited high school crush.

“Yes,” Grace said dryly. “I finally got you two poured into bed around three.”

“Thanks,” Sal muttered. “What time is it?”

“It’s six thirty. We have to leave for the ferry in half an hour.”

“Shit. Is Liam awake?”

“I pounded on his door before I got you up. He swore at me, so I know he’s conscious.”

Sal trudged by her icy friend to the bathroom, opening the sports drink as she went. What had gotten into her last night? She remembered stories, and some tears, and some disdainful looks from Grace. She remembered leaning on Grace on the way back to the room, and telling her how much she appreciated her.

She groaned as she turned on the full force of the hot water. She’d gone all I love you, man to Grace. How embarrassing.

With Tylenol and thirty-two ounces of orange electrolytes in her belly, the clean and refreshed Sal felt much better. They made it to the ferry just in time, and secured a cushy booth by the window so they could watch the gloomy Irish sky turn into gloomy Welsh sky.

“Did I tell you about Imogen?” Liam asked, waking Sal out of a doze.

“I honestly don’t remember,” Sal said, rubbing her head.

“You didn’t. She’s got to be the only one we didn’t hear about last night,” Grace said.

“She was wild. If she wanted you, she’d take you. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“I don’t know whether to ask if she was ever arrested for sexual assault, or plagued with STDs,” Sal said.

“Arrested for indecent exposure many times,” Liam said, smiling. Then he sobered. “Then, of course, she liked a DJ’s spinning so much that she just fucked him right then and there in the club.”

“Charming,” Grace said. “Can’t wait to meet her.”

“And the woman had stock in a condom company. Or she should have,” Liam said. “As crazy as she was, I never knew her to ride bareback. If she’d gotten knocked up then there went her lifestyle.”

“I don’t understand how one carefully plans to protect a wild, hedonistic lifestyle,” Sal said. “Seems like someone ready to fuck a stranger in a club isn’t the kind to be prepared.”

“She was always prepared in case she wanted to fuck someone in a club,” Liam said. “Girl was uninhibited.” He chuckled, “This one time, we—” He slowed down when he saw the look on Grace’s face. “Never mind.”

“No, go on. I’m going to walk around the ferry,” Grace said, and got up.

Sal watched her go. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her, unless she wasn’t up for seeing us get sloppy drunk last night.” She paused, considering. “Which is probably the case.”

Liam stared at her. “You don’t remember?”

Sal shook her head. “I remember bits and pieces. What the hell did we drink?”

“High-gravity beer,” he said. “I’ll never drink again.”

“Until the next time,” Sal agreed. “But what did I do?”

“You started talking about an ex-girlfriend, Amy, telling us how you met, your sex life, how you broke up, everything. Grace just clammed up and got really uncomfortable. I didn’t know you were gay either—you certainly didn’t seem gay when we were together.”

“Ohhh …” Sal said, understanding. “I’m not gay, I’m bisexual. I thought you knew that?”

Liam shrugged. “Maybe I wasn’t so attentive a lover. I already apologized for that, right?”

“Right,” Sal said absently.

“Although I think I would have remembered that,” he continued. “Anyway, after that you started pushing Grace for her history, asking her who she had dated, who she had fallen for in her time. She wouldn’t answer any of the questions, and finally said it was time for us to go to bed, and she dragged us upstairs.”

“Guess I got too personal,” Sal said. She shrugged. “So are you going to go all weird on me now?”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m just glad we aren’t dating anymore. I would probably say some things I would definitely regret.”

“How self-examining of you,” she said.