Summer Sons(105)

He said, “Yeah, tell her,” and hung up.

“Let’s get it,” Sam drawled.

Riley threw his hands up and said, “What was that supposed to achieve, how are we going to question her now?”

“He’s playing the game, trying to provoke her,” Sam answered for him.

“If she’s pissed, she’ll be off her stride,” Andrew confirmed. “What, did you expect me to ask if she killed Eddie during office hours?”

“You’re going to need me, still,” Riley said, gesturing to the monograph on the sofa. “Give me that and I’ll start digging into her fucking family, too.”

Sam started in with, “I said—”

“Thank you for helping.” Andrew cut him off.

The cousins shut up. He dropped the phone and rubbed his face with both hands. If he paid close attention to the air currents wafting through the house, he could feel a faint pulse drag at him from the kitchen. He focused on it and reached his hand out while he tried to grab on to the strangeness. Foul, sucking tendrils reached for him through the wall, his own cold, clear power flickering out in turn—or so he pictured it behind his eyelids. On contact, the two ghastly energies skittered off each other. His breath caught at the crawling, clashing sensation.

“Stop it,” Riley said, shaken.

Andrew made a fist to cut his clumsy outreach short. Lamplight dazzled him when he blinked the room into focus again, squinting at the pale fright on his roommate’s face. Though the ring recognized him, its taste was alien compared to the familiar rot of his haunts. It carried more intention, though he was hard-pressed to explain the difference. He’d spent his whole life repressing the inheritance Eddie had inflicted on him out of careless adoration; using it on purpose was like learning another set of limbs.

“Y’all shouldn’t be messing with that shit. Nothing good comes of it,” Sam reminded him.

“I don’t think I’ve got a choice,” Andrew said.

“He needs to settle the haunting eventually,” Riley agreed.

Andrew thumped a hand on his shoulder twice, and said, “Go to class, hold down the fort, and don’t draw her attention. Eddie didn’t want you to waste your potential either, he’d be pissed if I fucked that up on his behalf. We’ll handle the haunting fine.”

“Sam hates spooky shit,” Riley said.

“Sam does hate spooky shit,” the man himself said. “So take me serious this time. Keep out and keep safe. I swear I’m not disrespecting you, Riley, it’s just the right choice.”

Understanding passed between the cousins for a wordless moment. Riley’s concession followed in the form of a shrug, no more. Andrew heaved a sigh and thumbed at the monograph—such a small book for such a big guess to ride on.

He said, working through his thoughts aloud, “West stole his notes, but he said he didn’t take the book, and I’m hard-pressed to see a reason for him to lie about that. I never found the phone, either. But Troth said Eddie mentioned a breakthrough to her over dinner, at the same time he supposedly left his ring behind—sounds convenient, huh?”

“So you’re thinking, what, he shares his findings and she makes the leap to ‘if I murder him I’ll get superpowers’? Because I’m not sure that adds up either, it sounds nuts,” Riley said.

“Yeah, I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out. Wonder how long she’ll wait to get in touch,” Andrew said. “God, my head hurts so bad.”

Sam rose from the couch and said, “Go home, y’all. Night’s been long enough.”

Andrew hesitated on the couch—he’d still assumed he was sleeping over. When he opened his mouth to ask, Sam bent and planted a hard kiss on his parted lips, then abandoned him in the living room. Riley shifted awkwardly. Andrew grabbed the book and his phone and his stung pride to escape out the front door without another word.

Rain-thick night welcomed him, condensation clinging to his skin. Riley hopped into his Mazda, giving him puppy-dog sympathy eyes. Andrew stood at the open door of the Supra, not ready to leave. He tilted his chin and let drizzle soak his hair, his shirt. Warm lights glowed inside the homestead. Sam’s silhouette passed across the living room windows. Andrew collapsed into the driver’s seat and focused all his scattered thoughts on the drive to Capitol.

When he came in through the kitchen door, his roommate was drinking a beer at the open fridge. He elbowed him aside to grab one for himself. In companionable silence, the pair stood drinking, glances half-catching. Riley crushed his can with a refreshed sigh and tossed it in the garbage. Andrew leaned against the table, his free hand braced on the dirty glass top.

“Sam hasn’t been, like, serious with anyone before. Just so you’re aware. I’m not labeling the thing you’re doing with him, but he spends more time with you than he does with me and it doesn’t feel casual to, I assume, let him give you your first dick,” Riley said. He ran a nervous hand through his fringe, rain-frizzed hair sticking up in all directions. Andrew felt his face go red as fire, mouth open but no words coming out. Riley continued, “He’s spent so much time on me he didn’t bother with his own shit, until now. He deserves a good thing to happen to him, Andrew. I do like you, but I don’t know if you’re a good thing.”

“I don’t either,” he said finally.