I spend the next week holed up in my home in a research frenzy. Lukas was right, my best skill isn’t magic. It’s digging into the details, putting the pieces together, and figuring out where people have messed up. So, I start looking into Solem like my life depends on it. Maybe it does. I make lists of every business I can find that he’s involved in, every shady deal, every back alley connection, every person he has working for him. He’s old and apparently fairly well known, so all of the lists are beyond extensive. It’s like peeling back the layers of an onion, except every layer stinks worse than the last. I’m a little frightened of what I might find when I eventually reach the centre. It quickly becomes clear that this guy isn’t just your average bad guy, he’s feared. Not just by people like us, but by other powerful figures in the magical community. People are TERRIFIED of him. Compared to this guy, the demon my cousin is working for seems like a minor inconvenience. Like a bad house guest who overstays their welcome, while Solem is the guy who burns your house down while you’re still inside and laughs while doing it. I print out what feels like five hundred different pages of information. I’m not even exaggerating, it’s an actual mountain of paper. And Lukas? Lukas turns into some kind of organizing fiend. I swear, it’s like the chaos fuels him. He sorts everything into piles and categories with a precision that would make a librarian weep tears of joy. There are color coded sticky notes, meticulously labeled folders, and some kind of running document where he’s basically making a cliff notes version of everything I’ve found. Anyone else would be horrified by the chaos my research is churning out, but Lukas seems to actually ENJOY sorting through it all. I don’t understand his system. I don’t WANT to understand his system. It’s like trying to decipher ancient runes written by someone on too much caffeine, then put through an internet translator repeatedly until it makes only the barest hint of sense. It might be decipherable if you already know what it should say, but if you don’t… You have no chance. But I let him do it, because somehow, it works. The problem isn’t finding information, we have plenty of that. The problem is finding the RIGHT information. Because our current goal isn’t to take down Solem. That’s totally unrealistic. Our goal is to rescue Wren. Not only because I want to help him, but because I figure if we get the necromancer out of the way, then at least our families can’t get involved in necromancy. The problem is, we don’t know where Wren is. And even if we did, how would we rescue him? This isn’t some high school drama where we can just bust in and tell the bad guys to back off. This is real life. This is an actual demon, he kills people. We can’t afford to screw it up. And even if we COULD somehow rescue him, there’s still the whole issue of the demon deal. Wren’s life is basically owned by Solem at this point, and we don’t have a receipt to cancel the purchase. The whole situation feels hopeless.
It’s three in the afternoon, and I’m sitting on my bed in the same pyjamas I’ve been wearing for the last two days. No makeup, my hair is a disaster, and I’m pretty sure I’ve entered some kind of permanent state of hibernation. I’m going over the information for what feels like the thousandth time, hoping that maybe, MAYBE something new will magically appear if I just stare hard enough. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t. Lukas walks over, looking way too put together for someone who’s been cooped up with me all week. Without saying a word, he closes my laptop and moves it away from me, placing it on the dresser like he’s confiscating it from me.
“Lukas, what the hell?” I snap, glaring at him. I was working. I was busy. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he grabs my hands and tugs me to my feet like I’m a sulky teenager refusing to get out of bed for school.
“You WERE working. Now you’re going to go shower and get dressed.” He orders, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to say to someone who is in the middle of a research crisis. Hold up a second, I think he really DID just confiscate my laptop! I frown, yanking my hands back.
“Excuse me? Since when do you get to tell me what to do?” I demand. Lukas just shrugs, completely unfazed.
“It’s up to you. But your brother called about an hour ago. He’s bringing dinner, and I’m fairly sure you’ll want to clean up before he arrives. It takes you kind of a long time to get ready, and I think you need a break.” He gives me a pointed look. I narrow my eyes at him, trying to work out if he’s making a dig at me for taking so long to get ready, but nope. He just looks like he’s stating a fact. I make a disbelieving sound, crossing my arms over my chest.
“My brother never called. I would have noticed.” I object stubbornly, not appreciating his interruption. Lukas rolls his eyes like I’m the dense one in this conversation.
“Yes, he did. You had headphones on and you were watching some video while researching and doing like six other things at once. You didn’t hear the phone ring, so I answered. He’s bringing dinner.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh.” I pause, processing that information. Maybe I AM the one being a bit dense here.
“Then… I should probably shower and get dressed.” I admit, a little guiltily. Lukas laughs.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. So go get cleaned up. Unless you’re waiting for help? I could scrub your back.” He adds with a perfectly straight face, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I back away from him with a less than dignified squeak.
“Absolutely NOT.” I declare loudly, stomping off toward the bathroom. I can hear him laughing as I storm off. Somehow I feel like I lost in that conversation. As I slam the bathroom door shut, Princess is perched on top of the toilet seat, giving me the most judgmental look a cat can possibly muster.
“What are you looking at?” I grumble at her, and she flicks her tail in that sassy way that cats do. Great, now she’s laughing at me too. Still grumbling, I do exactly what Lukas suggested. And, annoyingly, I do feel a little better. Okay, a lot better. Damn him.
By the time I exit my bedroom, it’s been well over an hour. I expect to find the house in the same semi chaotic state I left it, papers everywhere, dishes piled up, pet hair lurking in corners like it pays rent. At the very least, I figure I’ll need to tidy up the couch, hide the blankets and pillows Lukas has been using since he’s been crashing here. Aside from that one drunk and awkward night, Lukas has been sleeping on the couch like the respectful houseguest he claims to be. But when I step into the living room, I stop dead in my tracks. It’s spotless. And not just casually tidy, like the kind of quick cleanup you do when you know someone’s dropping by. No, this is meticulous. All of our research, hundreds of pages, sticky notes, and scribbled out theories, has vanished from the coffee table and dining table. It’s been carefully put away somewhere, I assume, though I don’t know where because Lukas didn’t ask for my help. The dishes are done, the kitchen counters gleam like they belong in a cleaning product commercial, and the ever growing layer of pet hair that’s been building up in the corners of the room? Gone. The man even lit a couple of my scented candles. This place is guest ready in a way it hasn’t been since he moved in. Actually, scratch that, it’s never been this tidy. Not even when I’m TRYING to be organised! And there he is, standing barefoot in the middle of my spotless living room, tossing a ball for Roxy like this is just another day. His sleeves are rolled up, collar unbuttoned, suit pants hanging perfectly on his annoyingly tall frame. He’s barefoot, for crying out loud, looking completely at ease in MY house. Like he belongs here. Like he hasn’t just turned into some weird combination of a personal assistant, a housekeeper, and a… Well, whatever he is to me. And it kind of pisses me off how attractive he is. I mean, seriously? He cleaned my house. He cleaned my whole damn house, and now he’s playing with his dog and being all adorable and sensitive or whatever! What’s next? Cooking me dinner? Fixing the leaky bathroom tap I’ve been ignoring for months? What did he do, look online for the top ten female fantasies and start seeing how many he can tick off? Because if that’s the case, it’s working. And I hate that it’s working. Damn him!