Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

30. Greyson

Chapter thirty

Greyson

B irthdays were never a big deal for me. After Don came into the picture they were even less of a reason to celebrate. He liked to ruin them, and any other holiday, by building up the anticipation of something awful happening only for the day to pass without incident. The damage came when I was least expecting it, which meant, in a way, I always expected it.

I didn’t want to dampen Chris’s spirits, though. He seemed determined to make my birthday something special, whether it was because it was our first together, the first without my family, or because it came after he nearly lost me. I wasn’t sure, nor did I ask.

After my awful stunt with the poisoned tea, he’d taken the week off of work and spent every waking moment with me. Even when I went to Arcanum, he would lounge in the relatively empty office upstairs or run errands and “check in” every twenty minutes. I didn’t know if he was specifically keeping an eye on me or if he was on the lookout for Don. Either way, he needed to get back to his own life and I planned to tell him as much over dinner.

“Go upstairs. Take a shower. Relax. I’ve got dinner,” he said when I walked in the door after work, pressing a glass of red wine into my hand. Sizzling smells and aromatics wafted out of the kitchen, meaning the meal preparation was already underway.

I eyed him suspiciously and made a show of peering around him, trying to see into the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t need any help? It’s just another day. Honestly.”

“It is not. It’s your day. And you’re not cooking your own birthday dinner.” He kissed me gently and gave me a little shove toward the stairs.

“If you insist.” I drifted up the stairs slowly, watching him retreat to the kitchen. More sizzling ensued. It smelled like beef of some sort. Rosemary. Garlic. Who knew what else.

I took a shower, as he suggested, and slipped into a pair of pajama pants. It was still chilly in the house, so I borrowed one of his hoodies, the faded purple one with a yellow bulldog in the middle. His alma mater. I couldn’t help but smirk. Of course he went to Western. In addition to being a party school, it was renowned for its law enforcement program. Although I had no room to talk. I’d done my fair share of drinking in college and probably paid three times what he did in tuition. Now look at me. My degree was useless, my teaching career over. Don had made sure every private and public school between here and Chicago blacklisted me as being a danger to students and faculty alike. I was sure he’d find a way to ruin Arcanum too. It was only a matter of time, despite the fairly uplifting tone Nemo had in his last letter.

Before my mood soured too much, I finished the wine and headed downstairs.

“Perfect timing,” Chris said when I walked into the kitchen. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I had a feeling,” I admitted with a small smile.

“Well I hope you’re feeling steaks too.” He pulled out my chair at the table and leaned forward, kissing me. “Nice hoodie by the way.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“I thought you didn’t cook?” I asked, sliding into the chair and assessing the plate in front of me. Steak, as he’d said, with a baked potato, roasted asparagus, and a side salad.

“No, I can , I just don’t like to. Especially when it’s only me.”

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

A faint blush touched his cheeks. “Your cooking is way better. Trust me.”

“I don’t know. This looks pretty amazing.”

And it was amazing. As usual, it took a little convincing before Chris believed the praise, but when he did, I could feel the pride swelling his chest. I had a feeling he’d try his hand at cooking more often.

After dinner, Chris built a fire in the fireplace, turned out all of the lights, and crawled onto the couch with a fuzzy blanket. He flipped one corner of the blanket back on itself and draped his arm along the back of the couch, another clear invitation. I snuggled up underneath his arm, tucking the blanket over my lap.

“Is this ok?” he asked as he turned on the movie—a rom-com I hadn’t seen about two office assistants setting up their respective bosses.

“It’s perfect, darling.”

A swirl of nerves and happiness shot through him and he looked away quickly. For once the second-guessing didn’t last long. He didn’t spend half of the movie fretting that he hadn’t measured up, worried that I was too nice to tell him. He was quietly content, as was I.

Between the food and the warmth, the sheer comfort of being in Chris’s arms, my eyelids started to grow heavy. I felt myself sinking lower, my cheek pressed against his chest as I slipped deeper into unconsciousness.

Somewhere in the space between sleeping and wakefulness, his lips brushed my forehead and he whispered, “I love you.”

I managed to murmur, “I love you too.” A rush of joy spilled out of him, as radiant as the sun. I could imagine his dimples beaming as I nuzzled against his chest. He curled his fingers around mine where they lay on his abdomen. I squeezed his hand, holding on to him as sleep overcame me.

My birthday present from Don, however, was nowhere near as nice as Chris’s formal declaration of love.

The day after, Chris and I woke before sunrise to the sound of my cell phone ringing incessantly. I only answered because “City of Mapleton” flashed across the caller ID.

“Is this Greyson Darkholme?” the man asked.

“It is.” I sat up, wiping the sleep from my eye.

“This is Officer Parsons with Mapleton PD. Sorry to call so early, but someone vandalized your bookstore. Can you come down and let us know if anything is missing?”

“I’ll be right there,” I sighed.

Chris ran a hand along my bare back, his dark brows drawn together. “What’s up?”

“Don did something to the store. I have to go down there.”

Fury stabbed through him as he threw the covers back and stomped over to his dresser.

“You don’t have to go,” I said quickly, climbing out of bed.

“The hell I don’t. I’m not letting you go by yourself.”

I wasn’t going to argue with him. Maybe by having him there, something could actually be done about Don. At the very least, the officer assigned to the case wouldn’t be as apt to sit on their hands, knowing their coworker would be adamant about any sort of follow-up.

I couldn’t find my clothing from the day before, so I threw on his hoodie and pajama pants again. Chris, on the other hand, yanked on a different hoodie and a pair of jeans, clipping his badge and gun to his hip as we made our way down the stairs.

“You’re going in an official capacity?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“Should we take separate cars?”

“Nope.” He swiped his keys off the hook by the front door and unlocked the squad remotely, spitting out a command in German to Nitro and giving him a sharp hand signal to stay or sit or something. The dog snorted indignantly and sat.

“People are going to talk,” I reminded him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him coming with me, but I didn’t want him to out himself before he was ready. Not like this. “It’s five in the morning. People are going to—”

“Get in the car.” Chris grabbed his duffel bag from the front seat of the squad and hauled it around to the cargo area before climbing behind the wheel. If there was one thing I’d learned from our sleeping arrangement over the past few weeks, it was that he was not a morning person. Getting hauled out of bed by Don’s antics probably didn’t help matters.

We drove in silence to the store. One other squad was already there, parked directly in front of the building. Chris pulled in behind it.

“That fucker,” he said under his breath, killing the engine.

The front window had been smashed out, along with all of the new glass in the front door. From where I sat, I could already tell several of the bookcases had been ripped down and one of the couches was upended.

We exited the squad and made our way inside, surveying the carnage.

Books were scattered everywhere. Glass shattered. Blood-red paint had been splashed over the counter and smeared on the walls, spelling out a variety of words, ranging from the standard “Witch” to “Fag” to “Murderer.” Only the front half of the store had been damaged. My guess was that he got interrupted before he could tear the whole place apart. Lucky me.

“Brandt? What are you doing here, man?” the officer said when we walked in.

“Gave Greyson a ride.” Anger rolled off of him in steady waves, though he managed to mask most of it in his tone. “What the fuck, Parsons?”

The other officer looked around, sighing in agreement. “It’s a fuckin’ mess.”

“You don’t have an alarm system?” Chris asked, turning toward me.

“No,” I replied quietly. “The landlord said he’d put one in after the last vandalism but he never did.”

The officers exchanged a look, shaking their heads. Guess they were familiar with Lou the absentee landlord, then.

“No cameras, either?” Parsons asked.

I shook my head.

“Valdez is at the PD, making some calls,” Parsons said to Chris. “Seeing if the other business owners have anything on their cameras. If we’re lucky, we can catch the little punks who did this.”

“It’s not kids,” Chris said, gritting his teeth.

“How do you know that?”

“He has a stalker.”

They both turned toward me that time. I pretended I wasn’t listening as I gathered books into a pile on the floor. Some of them could be salvaged. Most, however, had ripped covers or torn pages, rendering them useless.

“Do you know who it is?” Parsons asked, his voice a little louder, so I assumed he was directing the question at me.

“Don Nielsen out of Chicago,” Chris answered for me. “I got a file started on him. As soon as I have enough, Hilary is going after him.”

“Who’s Hilary?” I asked, my narrowed gaze fixated on Chris. I didn’t like the direction the conversation had taken or the fact he’d started doing things— legal things—behind my back without so much as a word.

“The State’s Attorney,” Chris replied, barely meeting my gaze.

I folded my arms over my chest. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“When we had enough to prosecute his ass.”

“You know what kind of vehicle he drives?” Parsons asked, glancing between Chris and me, not sure who he should focus on at the moment—his fellow officer, or the store owner/stalking victim.

“They’re all logged in the file,” Chris replied. “Personal vehicles, work vans, all of it.”

“I’ll let Valdez know in case any of them show up on video.” Parsons ducked his head and started toward the door, relieved to have an excuse to leave. As he neared me, he paused, gesturing to the hoodie. “Hey! I went to Western too.”

“Go Leathernecks,” I said stiffly. My gaze never left Chris. He, on the other hand, was glaring at the writing on the wall instead of me, seething with a barely contained rage.

Parsons cleared his throat and hurried out of the building.

Even after we were alone, Chris continued to ignore me, his anger rising with every breath he took.

“How long have you been building this so-called case of yours?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral and not let his ire dictate my own.

“Since he broke into your house and mailed you a fucking greeting card.”

“You don’t know that was him.”

Chris’s dark gaze sliced to mine, as cutting as the broken glass at my feet. He threw his hands out wide, not saying anything else. He didn’t have to. The damage spoke volumes.

“There’s what you know and what you can prove,” I said icily. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? How many cops have shrugged their shoulders when shit like this happens? No one can prove anything when it comes to him. That’s how he keeps getting away with it!”

“He’ll make a mistake. They always do.”

“It’s been two years!” A wave of helplessness ebbed closer, not as strong as before, but enough to make my shoulders fall. “He killed my family and he got away with it! How long until he makes a mistake? How long do I have to wait before the law says you can finally do something about it?”

Sensing the change in me, Chris closed the distance and cupped my cheek, his gaze soft—and scared. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“If he gets the chance, he’ll kill you too.”

“He can try.”

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“I can take care of myself. Just like I’m going to take care of you, too.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest, squeezing me tightly. I clung to the back of his hoodie, pressing my face against the warmth of his neck and trying to take comfort in it, in his promise. It wasn’t that I doubted him—I simply doubted anything would be able to stop Don, magical or mundane.