Chapter Four

NATE FINDS HARRY waiting on the roof of her apartment. He clambers up the fire escape and plops down next to her on the empty lawn chair.

“Another vision, huh?”

“Yyyyyup.” Harry leans so far back in her chair she’s nearly a straight line, head back, legs outstretched. Her sunglasses are so overlarge they cover half her face.

“How long we got?”

“No clue. That’s the thing about divinely gifted prophetic dreams, they’re still dreams. Light on specificity.”

“Hey, I’ll take any warning we can get.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees with feeling, sitting up. “What’s up, Doc?”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Just balancing a whole mess of papers I gotta grade along with trawling every available legend on earth for information on demon princes. Different cultures have different names for them, so it’s been a lot of cross-referencing and intuitive leaps, to be honest.” He gives her the same searching once-over he did Ravi. “How’s Chosen stuff?” The unpleasant rush of dying-Chosen memories had thankfully only lasted a few days. Harry was kind of a wreck during that, but she’s both tough and adaptable.

“Oh, you know,” she singsongs, “Val’s been kicking my ass up and down the gym every day. My skin is maybe bulletproof, not that I am itching to test that, but my muscles are still plenty sore.”

“Ooh, are you getting all buff? C’mon, flex for me.”

Harry slips a hand in her pocket, extracts a quarter, and whips it at Nate. It hits him solidly behind the ear.

“Ow, fuck,” he laughs. Harry is a ton of fun to flirt with; sometimes she plays along, and sometimes she flings things at him. It keeps him on his toes. He knows she doesn’t take him seriously and isn’t interested, which is the only reason he keeps the pretense going. Flirting with Harry is nice and harmless.

“I suppose you still haven’t told Val about, ah, this?” Nate indicates the empty rooftop with a sweep of his hand.

“Hell no. It’ll just be hammer time for sure. I don’t want to have to explain to my landlord why there’s a big red smear all over the roof.” Harry takes off her sunglasses to rub her eyes before putting them back on. “I appreciate you tag-teaming on this with me. The first time was…really, really fucking annoying on my own.”

Nate leans over to clasp her arm. “Hey. Harry. You and me, we’re the normal ones. Whatever magical destiny bullshit you’ve gotten roped into, that’s still true. You need anything, I got you.”

Harry throws another quarter at him.

“Jesus, what was that one for? I was being sincere,” he grouses, rubbing his neck.

“Oh, I know,” she says, sinking so far in her chair that her arms dangle off the edges. “That was a thank-you quarter.”

It’s then Cayenne appears, blinking owlishly as if they had just stepped out of darkness onto the sunlit roof.

Harry and Nate share a glance, then push to their feet.

Cayenne rolls their eyes and arranges themself with hips canted, elbow cupped in the palm of their hand. They’re dressed in some kind of flashy designer suit with slim suspenders, the jacket tossed over their shoulder like they just popped off a fashion runway. The careless pose doesn’t quite detract from how red-rimmed their green eyes are.

“Ah, and here we are once again, mes amis. I knew you lived somewhere in this building, dear Harry.”

“Pretty funny watching you going up and down the fire escape trying to find which apartment is mine.” Harry raises her arms above her head in a casual stretch.

Cayenne’s smile is a blade’s edge. “It’s a cute spell your good witch Glinda devised, I must admit.” They look away over the edge of the roof for a moment, gnawing on their lip, and turn back. “I just want to talk to him.”

“You can fuck right off,” Nate says with a ready shrug. He crosses his arms over his chest, making sure he’s not in Harry’s way if she needs to draw the urumi.

“Hm. So, like everyone else in his life, Harry, you’re going to make decisions for him too?” They’re ignoring Nate altogether, which suits him just fine. If he never had to see Cayenne again, it would be too soon.

Harry hums a low note, rocking back and forth on her heels. “How about we just fast-forward to the end of this conversation, Pep. We’re not telling you shit, and we’re not passing on any messages. Go away.”

“At least…” They swallow, throat bobbing, and their voice goes plaintive. “At least tell me if he’s okay.”

Nate couldn’t hold back the explosive words if he tried. “Is he okay? Are you fucking serious?”

Harry sets her palm to Nate’s chest, just a brief touch, but he subsides, unable to even look at Cayenne lest he throw a punch at their manufactured face and probably get himself erased from time.

She maintains her perfect, implacable calm. “We’re not telling you shit. Go away.”

They affect a charming lilt, running a hand through copper-red hair. “Really, darlings, there is no need for all this aggressive posturing. If you are truly his friends, you’ll agree with me that The Trust has brought him nothing but pain. You should be helping me dismantle it, not stopping me at every turn.”

A weird way to refer to a little rooftop chat, but whatever. “He doesn’t want it dismantled. He didn’t ask you to do that. Let him fix it the way he wants to.”

“I’m trying to free him,” they snarl, sudden and feral. Talk about aggressive posturing.

“He can do that on his own,” Nate says, voice rising. “He’s already doing great.”

Cayenne sneers. “Yes, about to be trapped in a sham marriage.”

“Hey,” Harry says mildly. “I’m a delight, I’ll have you know.”

“You must have some idea what they’ve done to him—”

“What they’ve done to him? You’ve done worse.”

Cayenne spins toward Nate, eyes narrowed in real threat. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about—”

“I’ve got an inkling. What I do know, ‘Cayenne’ or whatever your real name is, is that you altered time itself so you could get your hooks into someone you knew had been starved of any real affection for his whole life, knowing the whole time that you were responsible for ruining his life and killing his family. Then you lied to him so you could sleep with him.” Nate straightens up to his full height, nearly six foot three in running shoes, shoulders square and broad. “You knew how to get him to say yes to anything you wanted. How many times did you rewind time because you couldn’t take no for an answer? There aren’t words for the kind of abuser you are.”

Cayenne stands bristling and fuming, one hand slowly curling and uncurling, over and over.

“Ugh,” Harry groans. “Grrr, testosterone, yeah. Listen.” She runs an idle finger along the zipper of her jacket as if dislodging a piece of lint. “How many times have we had this conversation today, Cayenne? This exact one?”

Cayenne turns their glare on her, eyes widening a hair.

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. And how many times have we given you what you want?” Cayenne opens their mouth but before they can answer, Harry continues, “Well, gosh, wouldn’t you know it, we’re still here doing this bullshit for the god-knows-how-many-teenth time, so it must not have happened in any of those versions. Right?”

Nate takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to count to ten while Harry speaks. The highest he makes it to is seven before he loses count and has to start over.

“I’ll save you the effort, Red; it ain’t gonna happen. You can Groundhog Day this convo as many times as you like. It doesn’t matter. We’re not. Telling you. Shit.” She ticks off each word on her fingers.

“So protective of you, o Chosen One,” Cayenne says sweetly. “Such a shame you couldn’t protect your mother when it counted.”

“Esti d’épais à marde,” Nate growls, the Québécois his mom taught him rusty but serviceable enough for profanity. “You stole some dossiers and you think you know us.”

“Don’t come at me with that garbage French, you moosefucker. And I think I do know something about you, Professor.” Cayenne’s hands fist briefly before they spread their arms wide, all derision and scorn. “I opened his doors, and you want to waltz right in and get comfy.”

Nate spares Harry an incredulous look, mouthing, his doors? She makes a grossed-out face back. What an analogy, Jesus. “Fuck right off. You’re insane.”

“And you’re some boring nobody from nowhere, with a degree in fairy tales. Harry, you’re aware you can easily replace this one with a Google search and a cardboard cutout, oui?”

Nate has two doctorates in fairy tales, thank you very much. “Why are you still here? If Ravi wanted to talk to you, he wouldn’t have destroyed his phones.”

Cayenne looks up at him through their lashes, almost sweetly. “You know, Professor, for someone who’s supposedly so intelligent, you don’t seem to understand how foolish it is to stand between a chronomage and what is theirs.”

Nate shakes his head with disgust. “You are deeply fucked up. You can’t own people. He isn’t yours.”

“Oh, I see. You want him to be yours,” they hiss, their tattooed hand twitching. It might glow faintly for a split second, but Nate can’t be sure.

Harry lifts her brows. “Cayenne, if you make one move against any member of my team, I will find a way to end you.” Every word is spoken as a solemn vow.

Cayenne’s fury dissolves into a careless grin, their stance shifting to a harmless, amiable slouch. They flap a hand dismissively at Nate; how kind of them to decide not to toss him back into the Stone Age. “I just want to talk to Ravi. Tell me how I can reach him, and I’ll go.”

“You can’t. You’re broken up. Take the hint. Move on.”

Cayenne’s lip twitches down. Then they break into a sharp, flinty smile, dipping into a mocking bow. “I’ll take that under advisement, ma chérie Angharad. And whatever means you have been employing to stop my plans, I’d greatly appreciate if you stop. Before I have to enhance my methods.”

Harry crosses her arms. “Yeah, well, plenty more where that came from, Red.”

Cayenne’s smile drops completely as they glare daggers at Nate. They put a hand to their tattoo and disappear.

They’ve barely been gone a full second when Harry turns to Nate and says, “I have no fucking clue what they’re talking about. I haven’t been doing shit.”

“Huh.” Nate grapples for a sense of calm. Having a mystery helps, keeps his busy mind occupied on a problem to be solved instead of lingering over Cayenne’s accusations. “So, someone else is moving against them? Stopping whatever their plans are? Fuck, I’d like to send whoever it is a fruit basket.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “All in all, that could have gone worse.”

“Maybe it did. Maybe they dropped us off the roof a couple of times just for funsies, and then undid it.”

“Yikes, Harry.”

She shrugs. “If you can control time, death’s not permanent unless you want it to be. Other people’s death, at least.”

Not for the first time, Nate is grateful there can only be one chronomancer at a time, assuming the black-market broker’s information was correct. One is too many.

Harry sighs, plopping back down on the lawn chair. “This is the right thing to do? Running interference?”

“Well.” Nate joins her, stretching out his legs. “Think of it like this. Say Cayenne was your manipulative, narcissistic, time-traveling ex. Would you like to deal with that yourself, or have a buddy tell them to back the fuck off for you?”

She sighs again, nodding. “Yeah.” She looks over at Nate, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair, her weariness shifting into slight amusement.

“What?”

“You didn’t deny it. That you like him.”

Nate scoffs. “What? You like him too. He’s very likable.”

“Sure, I like him, I’m going to marry him.”

“Ooh, is that official, then? Sending out invitations yet?”

“Don’t change the subject, Doc.” Harry glances at her nails, kindly giving Nate a chance to school his expression without her incisive scrutiny. “He didn’t used to be likable. When we first met, he came off like an arrogant prick.”

Nate looks away, out over the treetops and scattered buildings. “You remember my first little foray into the field with you guys? That job up north with the cursed necklace. When he got in a snowball fight with those kids.” After he’d consulted on the kappa case, Harry had invited Nate to ride along on a mission, to see how he’d mesh with the team, and if he could hold his own with something a little meatier than a stack of folklore translations.

She looks puzzled for a few seconds, but then her forehead smooths. “Oh yeah, I sorta remember that. Before we found the right graveyard. Fun times.”

“I remember it,” Nate says quietly. “Made an impression. This tough guy in a suit that costs more than my car gets thwapped upside the head by some strange kid’s snowball, and he just smirks and throws a couple back.”

Harry looks at him.

Awkwardly ruffling a hand through his hair, Nate sighs. “Yeah, okay, I don’t deny it. But it’s fine, I’m a grown boy. I can deal with a crush without making it weird for the heartbroken, grieving guy.”

“He might be on the rebound,” Harry snarks. “Maybe you should swoop in and offer some of your patented casual comforts. ‘Relieve some stress,’ I remember you saying.”

“You’ve never taken me up on that offer, by the way.”

“Aw, is yer widdle heart broken?”

“Shattered,” he laughs.

Harry leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. “So, is that your thing? Going after the emotionally unavailable?”

Wincing, Nate lays a hand over his heart. “Ow, good aim, Harry. No need to get ugly.”

“Uh-huh,” she says knowingly.

She’s not wrong, is the thing. It’s a smart play to keep his dalliances light, to keep anyone from getting close enough to hurt. One heartbreak was enough for Nate, and he’s enjoyed the casual blend of sex and friendship he’s cultivated with interesting people ever since. Now he’s got a code; never hook up with anyone he’d have a hard time letting go of. Definitely a good idea to keep things nice and friendly with Ravi.

“So, we’re going to New York to talk to a vampire?” Nate attempts to change the subject.

Harry lets him because she is, in fact, a delight. “Yeah. Ravi’s chartering us a jet.”

“Ooh-la-la. Gonna be marrying into money, McAllister.”

“Hey, I’m not marrying into nothin’ until I see that ring.” She wiggles her bare fingers.

Nate’s smile softens into concern. “You really don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“You know.”

Harry’s chuckle is very cute, though she’d likely lob another coin at him for mentioning it. “Bless your heart. Do I mind being a beard for a millionaire monster-hunter who’s pledged his undying service to me as essentially his liege lord? Gosh, Nate, what hardship!”

“Yeah, but…what if. You know.” He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “What if you meet someone? What if you fall in love?”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “Oh my god, Nate. You play the slutty professor pretty well, but you’re a closet romantic.” She sets her hands on either side of her face in a sweet simper. “What if I fall in looooove,” she drawls, looking tickled by the very concept.

“Hey, I’m not a closet anything. My parents have matching ‘I love my bi son’ T-shirts with rainbow bison on them, it’s great.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

“Okay,” she says sarcastically, as if she’s willing to play the idea out solely for Nate’s benefit. “If I meet a guy I like, then I’ll see him. I know you’re familiar with the concept of an open marriage, Doc. Or a, wait— What did they used to call them? Right, a lavender marriage. What’s the confusion? Ravi’s obviously free to bang any dude he wants once he’s over his tragic first love.”

“Sure, but what if the guy you’re seeing— Hold up, first love?” He can’t have heard that right.

Harry stares at him, at the way he’s sat bolt upright in his lawn chair. “That wasn’t painfully obvious?”

Nate’s mind whirs for a few seconds. “Not to me.” He drags a palm over his face. “Huh. That does paint a clearer picture.” A way, way worse picture. Shades of worse than just some crazy ex; a fucked-up, time-twisted-up-in-knots, mom-killing whirlwind romance was one thing, but add first love to that? Fucking hell. And Nate had told Ravi he looked like death warmed over.

Nate sucks his lips between his teeth. “Damn, I think I’ve been a bit of an asshole.”

“Join the club.” Harry sighs. “Look, Nate.” Harry sits up, taking out her disguised urumi, a silvery coin with a scalloped edge. She contemplates it for a second before sliding it back in her pocket. “We’ve got a lot going on these days. We’re working on finding Constance’s big-shot demon and finally killing it. We’re trying to help Ravi uncover and dismantle the unsavory elements in his ancient, filthy-rich MI6 Illuminati with virtually zero info to go on. Still coming up dry for whoever sent the noodle sword my way, and now we’re trying to figure out how to keep the chrono-thot from fucking up all our lives if and whenever they feel like it. Plus, if an apocalypse crops up, guess who’s on deck to stop that?” She jerks both thumbs back at herself. “What I’m saying is: life’s short and have fun, but be careful.” She leans over and punches him on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting that delicate himbo heart of yours all tangled up in an impossible situation.”

“There’s nothing to be careful of. It doesn’t seem like Ravi’s had many friends in his life, and I want to be one. I’m not going to complicate that.”

Harry regards him for a while through her oversized shades. “You’re a good egg, Doc.”

He widens his eyes in mock fear. “You’re going to replace me with Google, aren’t you?”

This time he’s ready and ducks the quarter with a laugh.