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The bang of the slammed door reverberated through Stolas’s sleeping body and shook him awake.
“What the . . .” he groaned.
“You stole my crystal!” Blitzø roared hoarsely. “You didn’t even text me, or wake me up!”
Loona’s distinctive growl resounded in response, “I didn’t steal anything, asshole. I borrowed it!”
With bleary eyes, Stolas reached for his phone on the coffee table. It was 7PM. He sat up part way to find them posturing at each other. Blitzø was right behind the couch, his back to Stolas, and Loona stood on the other side of the dining table, lip curling into a snarl.
“I didn’t give it to you. So it’s fucking stealing!”
“I didn’t have a choice!” Loona retorted, smacking her palm on the table.
“Oh, ‘I didn’t have a choice!’” Blitzø mocked Loona in a high-pitched, whiny voice. “‘Poor helpless me!’”
Stolas’s throat tightened. Blitzø was passionate and had strong opinions, and Stolas loved that about him. But when he got like this . . .
“None of you were doing your jobs!” Loona shouted back at Blitzø. “You were here sleeping on the couch with him after doing whatever the fuck in the middle of the afternoon, and M&M are still in Wrath for family bonding or whatever. I was the only one working. And I wasn’t going to let an easy job go just because you guys were all slacking—”
“You call offing a fully trained U.S. Marine easy? Anything could have happened!”
“He was seventy and missing a leg, fuckwad. It took me five minutes. You’re welcome.”
Stolas took a deep breath and sat up the rest of the way. He was still a little disoriented, but his heart was no longer in his throat.
“You knew where I was. You literally drove the van home and stole the crystal from. Right. There.” He was motioning at the coffee table with both hands. “You walked right past me! While I slept. You were sneaking! Because you knew I wouldn’t let you go by yourself. No one goes on missions alone!”
“Except you! You’re such a hypocrite, Blitzø!” Loona stomped her foot for emphasis. “And a control freak. I should just go work for someone who doesn’t treat me like a fucking kid!”
Stolas looked between them. Blitzø's tail was twitching. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? You’re back on secretary duty! For a week!”
“Don’t you have Stolas for that?”
“Two weeks!”
“Why?!” Loona shoved a chair aside in frustration. Something about her expression, the way she crinkled her face in opposition, made her look younger.
“For acting like an asshole. Assholes don’t go on missions,” Blitzø snipped.
“What will we both even do? And who’s going to help you on missions until M&M get back?”
Blitzø turned and crossed his arms. “Stolas!” he called.
Stolas swallowed nervously. Anxiety shot through his veins and made it hard to move. It took him back to when Stella would sometimes zero in on him in the hall. Once she decided you were her target, there was no escaping.
“Hmm, dear?” Stolas forced out, sinking lower against the arm of the couch.
“You’d never let Via go off into the human world by herself, would you?”
Stolas flinched at her name.
“We were all there, and you took it seriously. Because you’re a good dad and you care about your kid. Tell her,” Blitzø motioned at Loona without looking at her, “that I’m not being a fucking tyrant!”
“Turn around and face me, idiot!” Loona demanded.
Stolas clenched his hands and looked away. “Please leave me out of this,” he managed.
Blitzø darted his eyes between his boyfriend and his daughter. “Okay!” he snapped. “You think I’m wrong too. Fuck my parenting I guess.”
“Blitzø, I . . . I don’t recall sharing any opinions about your parenting.”
Stolas was suddenly painfully aware of how small the apartment was. His only option for refuge was the bathroom, and even in his current state of lingering sleep, he knew excusing himself would look suspicious.
Blitzø clenched his fists so tight that his claws dug into his own skin. Stolas swallowed.
“Ughh, sure Stols.” Blitzø threw his arms up in frustration. “Your sassy fucking beak suddenly has no opinions?”
Stolas kept his mouth clamped shut. Words he meant to say rushed by and became garbled before he could hear them properly in his mind. Something warm and hard clamped on his wrist—perhaps Satan’s chains, perhaps Stella’s claws—holding him there.
He glanced down. No one was touching him. He was holding his own wrist.
He imagined where he would go if he still had use of his powers. The surface of a meteor, maybe, hurtling through space, with only stars around. Someplace where he could think for hours or days without being disturbed. Maybe then, he’d know what to say to Blitzø.
Blitzø’s voice cut through the fog, quick and loud, like pounding on a door. “What, no answer? I’m talking to you. You can’t ignore—”
“Dad!” Loona growled. “Stop it! Don’t you see what you’re doing to him?”
Blitzø stood absolutely still, but his tail was going haywire.
“Fine!” he snarled. He marched to the front door and swung it open. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”
The apartment shook again when he slammed it behind him. His absence hung in the air as his steps traveled away from the door and down the stairs.
Stolas looked at Loona. Their eyes met. She blinked, unreadable. Stolas still had no words.
Loona groaned, trudged into the kitchen, and began rummaging.
Stolas brought his knees up to his chest and took a slow breath. He heard his boyfriend’s daughter open the fridge.
Was “thank you” in order? Did Loona want to be left alone? Did Stolas even know how to properly speak with young people? Via used to cry whenever she was upset with Stolas. What did it mean that Loona’s eyes were dry after fighting with her father?
He heard Loona open the fridge, and the next moment, she swept right by him with some food on a plate— a couple of cold slices of pizza. Loona opened the door to her room, slid inside, and shut it. “KEEP OUT” and “MUST REMAIN LOCKED AT ALL TIMES” glared at Stolas in the absolute silence of the living room.
Stolas took a gulp of air and exhaled slowly, counting the seconds, the way the advice on the internet directed. He’d been looking into tips for dealing with this to help him cope with answering the phone in the office. It had worked a couple of times. He allowed himself a few repetitions, and the tension in his shoulders eased a little.
His eyes landed on Blitzø’s phone on the coffee table. Had he forgotten it, or left it there on purpose, so he’d be left alone?
Regardless, there was no way to talk to him now, to ask if he was okay.
Stolas’s stomach rumbled. He didn’t really feel like eating, but maybe he’d think a little clearer, even know what to do, if he got something in him. He straightened up and settled his talons on the floor.
Where was Blitzø now? Stolas could go out and try to look for him, but where? Was Blitzø storming through the whole city in a rage, or was he just pacing back and forth, turning hard on his heel and whipping his tail around again and again in front of the building?
Stolas stretched and ambled into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet and stared at boxes of pasta, potato chips, and sauces.
He’d never been good at throwing together anything but junk food on his own. Blitzø, on the other hand, was an excellent cook. Stolas had grown fond of spending evenings in the kitchen, just talking away the time and watching him work. Blitzø had this ease about him. He didn’t even need to pay attention while he was cooking, which, yes, led to a broken dish or a minor appliance fire here and there, but never seemed to ruin the food.
Stolas sulked. Without Blitzø guiding him, he was useless. Blitzø had walked him through the steps of boiling water for pasta the other day. Stolas wasn’t sure he could replicate even that on his own.
Blitzø deserved better from him. How many times since Stolas’s banishment had Blitzø done everything in his power to help him feel better, to make him feel at home here?
Stolas realized with a pang what an embarrassment he must have looked like earlier. Motionless on the couch, an eight-foot tall small animal waiting for a predator to strike, his beak glued shut. It was so utterly stupid.
Blitzø wasn’t Stella.
Blitzø hadn’t meant to corner Stolas. He was . . . confrontational, yes, but he was also incredibly loving and safe. Blitzø had just asked for help, albeit with a sharp tone, and Stolas had frozen up . . . Of course Blitzø was frustrated!
The owl demon realized he was staring at the food cabinet like it was a television screen. He forced himself to take out the crinkly bag of chips and return to the couch. He ate a few, one at a time. They were salty and a little stale. He put the rest down, unsatisfied. He then laid down, threw Blitzø’s horseshoe blanket over himself, and stared at the ceiling.
Did Blitzø not understand that Stolas knew nothing about how to parent a young adult? That he’d absolutely failed with his own daughter? Blitzø had seen everything. He’d practically watched Stolas ruin it all.
Bassy music blared from behind Loona’s door. The noisy, angry rock . . . He couldn’t identify the song, but it sounded a lot like what Via sometimes listened to.
Via. What was she doing right now? Practicing her guitar? She had been getting so good at playing it. Scrolling the internet? Enduring a stuffy party at Stella’s request? Attending to her studies? Did she ever think of him? When she needed guidance or a hand to hold, did anyone comfort her?
Stolas didn’t want to hear music. He ended up in the shower, not washing really, just standing there, a bit hunched over, focusing on the sound of the water and the pressure on the back of his neck. He stayed until he felt tired enough to return to the couch and close his eyes.
***
Shortly after Stolas began attempting to sleep, he heard Blitzø come in, take his boots off, and try to walk over quietly, though Stolas could still hear the little clicks of his hooves on the wood floor.
He watched Blitzø move over to him in the dark, sit down by him, and lean his elbows on his knees.
“Blitzø!” Stolas sat up with a start and heard his own voice come out, hushed and hurried, before he could even think of what to say, “I’m so sorry— I should have—”
“You’re sorry? I was an asshole!” Blitzø took a deep breath, sat up straight, and offered his hand. “No,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Stolas loved the golden glow of his boyfriend’s eyes in the dark. He took the imp’s hand. It was still chilled from being outside.
He lifted the blanket and laid on his side, pressed against the back of the couch to make room. He closed his eyes and felt Blitzø’s warm, solid weight snuggle up against his chest. Stolas inhaled his smell— soap, gunpowder, and something underneath that was just him.
“I mean it, Stols,” Blitzø mumbled. “I’m such a fucking tool sometimes, just thinking of my—”
“Shh . . .” Stolas wrapped his arm around Blitzø under the blanket. “I know you mean it, love.”
Stolas watched Blitzø blink, then close his eyes. The owl demon followed suit. He could feel his boyfriend shift just a little. His warm breath brushed Stolas’s shoulder.
Sleepiness set in slowly, parsed with snippets of angry voices, big, empty rooms, cold. And a little girl with lots of fears and a big, brave spirit, reaching out for comfort.
Every time his heart quickened, he found Blitzø’s breathing again, felt the heaviness of him, and calm returned. An anchor still.
***
The morning passed too slowly. Stolas woke up to the sound of Loona running the shower. Blitzø was gone, and had left a note on the fridge that read:
went to ofiss erly for mishun
lunch in the frig
Sure enough there were two sandwiches wrapped up neatly. Both had lettuce and sliced cheese in them, and the only difference was the protein: some sort of deli meat in one, and a fat, delicious looking rat in the other.
Loona drove herself and Stolas to work, blasting the radio. Stolas assumed that Loona had turned the volume up for the specific purpose of avoiding conversation.
Stolas had never really spent time with her alone, he realized. They’d been in plenty of conversations together, played board games, watched movies, but never without Blitzø making it easy with his presence.
***
Stolas looked from the reception desk to Loona. Loona followed his gaze and shrugged. She pulled out the chair, sat down, and put her feet up on the desk.
“You have anything else to do?” she asked.
“I— well, I’ve been meaning to put together a functioning database of all of I.M.P.’s financial and legal information, so we can better track . . .”
Loona raised an eyebrow and tapped impatiently on her arm.
“I’ll work on that!” Stolas rattled off.
He retreated into Blitzø’s office, leaving the door open to the reception area, and opened his boyfriend’s rickety laptop. Blitzø had given him the password (horse, of course) a few days ago after Stolas offered to sort the recent financial documents and make sure that I.M.P. wasn’t, in fact, in debt.
The spreadsheet Blitzø had shown him— one created by Moxxie years ago— was still open, and Stolas pulled a hefty folder labeled “importnt save” out of the desk drawer.
He sifted through documents and carefully entered the data, double checking every digit for certainty. This work was a far cry from measuring cosmic distances to track the secret messages passed between the stars, but he did get to think about numbers, and the big picture of things, at least when it came to the future of Blitzø’s company.
Much better than the phone, where he was never sure who would interrupt his peace with a rude request, or a burst of anger, or a question that he did not know how to answer.
He could hear Loona on the phone, her tone pure, dragging, boredom. “Yeah, we can kill whoever. Name and location?”
A sigh, followed by a huff. “It’ll happen when it happens. We’re short staffed.”
A slam.
Another ring. “I.M.P. . . . What the fuck? We have a no return policy, asshole! How were we supposed to know that he had an identical twin?!”
SLAM.
For a moment, there were no calls. Stolas could hear Loona turning the page of some book or magazine. Maybe now, he thought, he might finally make some progress with the records. Unfortunately, he had only managed to open the folder when another ring shot through the silence.
“I.M.P.” A deafeningly silent pause. “Wrong number. We’re assassins. No, I don’t want to suck your . . . ew!”
SLAM.
Truth be told, Stolas probably should have taken the phone duties . . . Loona made no secret of her dislike for the task. But if she was anything like Blitzø . . . No. Then, interrupting her now would be worse. Loona was an independent young woman and would ask for help if she needed it.
As the morning’s phone calls grew less frequent, he was able to turn his focus solely to filling out the spreadsheet. Stolas flipped through the first few documents in the folder. Completely out of order. He began to sort them by date, and then by type, pausing occasionally to set aside Blitzø’s incomprehensible notes to self. A drawing of a horse wearing a bonnet holding up a baseball bat menacingly, beneath which he’d scrawled, “do da thing!” Stolas grumbled. Blitzø had many wonderful qualities, but being easy to understand wasn’t one of them.
***
A couple of loose wristed knocks on the doorframe distracted him.
Strange. Stolas remembered leaving the door open.
“Come in,” he called, tearing his eyes from the laptop.
Loona stepped into Blitzø’s office and set down a cup holder containing three big clear cups on the desk. Labeled with names. One cup for Loona, one for Stolas, and one for Asshole.
“Thanks, Loona dear, I . . . didn’t realize you went out.”
“Shop’s right downstairs and across the street.”
Loona passed Stolas his cup, and he brought the straw to his beak. Hmm . . . He’d always been a tea drinker, but he was getting used to coffee, and this one was syrupy sweet.
The owl demon tilted his head curiously, looking at the Asshole cup. “You got him coffee,” he observed.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” She lifted her own drink out of the carrier, something pink and icy, her shoulders relaxed.
“Well . . .” Stolas scratched his beak, perplexed. “You’re angry with him . . . He’s angry with you. He left early this morning so he wouldn’t have to see either of us . . .” He gestured vaguely at a spot where Blitzø often disappeared into his portals. “He never leaves for missions so early!”
“Fucking coward, am I right? He made an ass of himself, and now he’s embarrassed.”
Stolas paused and averted his gaze. “I must say, I do hate seeing you and your father fight, when you have such care for each other.”
Loona turned the cup around in her hands, and her fingertips defrosted the clear plastic in a path across its surface. “Thanks, I guess, but, um . . . This happens all the time, and it’s really no big deal. Sometimes we get mad. We go cool off, and then we’re fine.”
Loona’s voice was missing last night’s underlying growl, Stolas now noticed. He frowned.
He remembered Via when she was little. Always full to the brim of emotions, good and bad, but almost never angry until quite recently. His role was always to dry her eyes and put her at ease. In more recent years, of course Via had snarked at him quite a bit. All teenagers did that. But he’d never shouted at her . . . and she’d never shouted at him. Not until . . .
“Dude, you look really upset about our stupid fight. What gives?”
Loona plopped herself down in the chair across the desk. Stolas wasn’t sure what in his expression had revealed that he wasn’t satisfied with her explanation, but he took the invitation. “You don’t feel the need to talk to him as soon as possible to fix it? You weren’t hurt when you called each other such vile things? You seemed furious, and now you claim you’re fine.”
“You almost sound like you want us to still be in a fight,” Loona scoffed, her eyes glinting.
“No!” Stolas almost choked on his coffee, and Loona responded with a little twist of a smirk. “I mean, I just want to understand.”
Loona shrugged. “Blitzø is overprotective. He’s been since I met him. It’s annoying, but he’d never put me out on the street. He’s always down for fast food, or beers on the couch, or causing some chaos somewhere. He’s just . . . my dad, you know?”
Stolas nodded. It squared with what he knew about Blitzø so far, even if it was embarrassingly little.
Loona put an elbow on the desk and closed her eyes for a moment. “Look, Stolas, bird guy. I’m not sure if you noticed, but Blitzø doesn’t have a bedroom. Why do you think that is?”
“Hmm.” The truth was, Stolas had thought about this quite a bit, lying on the couch at night, watched over by the big KEEP OUT sign on Loona’s door. “He can’t afford to live in a bigger apartment, and he cares about your comfort more than his own.”
“When he adopted me, I thought he was crazy. Most people who adopt hellhound kids are shit and want to use us for one thing or another . . . but as soon as we got to the apartment, this guy was yanking his shit out of his room, covering the bed with wolf and moon sheets, and giving me tons of food and new clothes and everything. And I’ve stuck with him ever since.”
Stolas nodded. He was starting to smile in spite of the worry hovering in his stomach.
“My point is,” Loona continued, “my dad is always proving himself. So why would I care if he says some asshole shit once in a while? Of course I’m going to get the moron coffee.”
Stolas’s eyes narrowed mischievously as he looked back at Blitzø’s coffee. “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t poison it? Or at least have the barista serve it up without a single ounce of sweetener?”
Loona tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know, I really should have. Triple espresso, no syrup, no life. Milk to cover our tracks. Next time. He’ll jump three feet in the air.”
The phone rang, bright, clear, and nagging from the next room.
“I’m tired of that shitty phone.” Loona groaned. “Rock-paper-scissors for who has to answer it?”
Stolas ran his eyes over Blitzø’s desk. Well, here was a pair of scissors, and all the paper had writing on it. And a rock? What did any of this have to do with answering the phone?
“Rock . . . paper . . . I’m not sure what you mean,” he admitted sheepishly.
The ringing continued.
“Here, it’s a game. I’ll show you.” She held out a tight fist. “This is rock . . .”