Alistair felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. “You’re seriously considering bonding with my brother?”
“You’ve made it clear I’m not bonding with you!” Sam threw his arms in the air. “What do you want from me, Alistair?”
Alistair wasn’t being fair and he knew it. It didn’t stop him. “Not to bond with Philip.”
Sam shook his head and turned away. “Good thing it’s not your choice, then.”
20
Sam barely spoke to Alistair as they returned to the house and packed their bags. Alistair had been right about one thing—it probably was too dangerous to stay here any longer. And since Sam had nowhere else to go, he might as well stay at The Pride until it was safe.
He liked Alistair, was even falling for him. Which was stupid, considering how clear it was that Alistair thought of their relationship as temporary. But right now he was beyond annoyed with him. How dare he be so—so highhanded, telling Sam not to work for Sullivan or bond with Philip, without bothering to offer any reasonable alternatives?
After packing in chilly silence for a while, Alistair sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I’m not being fair to you.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I apologize. I shouldn’t have said what I did. About you and Philip. But I thought you’d want me to be honest.”
“You were right about that, at least.” Sam looked up from folding his clothes. “I didn’t come to Chicago to hide away. I came because…because I needed more. And now you tell me I can’t have it.”
“I’m just trying to keep you safe. Men like Sullivan don’t get where they are by being nice. There are other jobs you can find; all sorts of places need hexmen.”
“Or witches.”
Alistair grimaced. “Or witches.”
Sam sighed. “I understand you’re trying to look out for me. I do. Sullivan is a gangster; of course I know he’s dangerous. I can take care of myself.”
“The man asked you a question about flower arranging and you offered your opinion!” Alistair exclaimed.
“So?”
“So what if he disagreed, or thought you were trying to tell him how to do things?”
Sam stared at him in disbelief. “You’re saying he’d have me shot for telling him to add some greenery?”
“Of course not. What I am saying is, when Sullivan thinks about you, you don’t want him to remember the chump who thought he knew floral arranging better than him.”
A wave of weariness passed over Sam. Maybe Alistair had a point, and he was in over his head. “I’ll take that into consideration. I’m not promising I’ll turn down the offer of a job, though.”
Alistair fastened his pack and threw it over his shoulder. “I guess I’ll have to be content with that.”
“I guess you will.”
Alistair didn’t say anything, only looked unhappy. Sam relented and went to him, slipping his arms around Alistair’s slender waist. He was gratified to feel Alistair’s long arms wrap around his shoulders in return. Alistair rested his chin in Sam’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not good at…well, any of this, to be fair.”
“It’s okay.” Sam tilted his head back for a kiss. They held one another for a few minutes, kissing softly, before he pulled back. “We’re going to have to scrounge up a new bed for your room, because the one you have in there now is too small for the both of us.”
Alistair smiled. “I think I can do that.”
They dragged a new bed down from the second hand furniture shop, and Sam put the few things he’d brought with him away. It was odd seeing his clothes tucked beside Alistair’s in the battered old dresser, their shoes neatly side by side. To be in Alistair’s space, bare as it was. The picture of Forrest and Alistair stared from the table, and Sam gazed at it for a while after Alistair had gone into the office down the hall.
The church taught that suicides were condemned to hell, but Sam had never believed it. He wasn’t even sure if there was a God, or a heaven and hell, but surely any god worth worshipping wouldn’t damn someone who’d lived with such pain to then suffer eternally.
If there was an afterlife, could the departed see what became of their loved ones—or would that be too cruel, to watch and be unable to act? Was Forrest looking down on them right now?
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Whether or not Forrest would approve of him wasn’t something he needed to dwell on. And it wasn’t as though he’d be staying that long.
It was a relatively quiet night at The Pride, with only the most dedicated drinkers and dancers in attendance. A couple of hours into the evening, Philip beckoned to him from behind the bar. When Sam came over, instead of asking him to get more booze out of the hidden storeroom, Philip said, “I’d like to talk, if you’ve got a moment.”
Sam’s first thought was that Alistair wouldn’t like it. But, as he’d said earlier, it was his own decision to make. “Okay.”
Philip waved Teresa over. “I’m going on break.”
“Got it.” Teresa signaled to Zola, who would help serve, and took up a position behind the bar.
Philip nodded at the front door. “Why don’t we step outside?”
They grabbed their hats and coats, then went up to the street. Philip stopped a short distance away beneath a streetlight. “That’s better. Sorry it’s a little chilly out here, but I don’t need my brother and sisters sticking their noses into our business.” He smiled ruefully. “I love them all, but sometimes they can be a bit…much.”
“I’ve noticed,” Sam said.
Philip took out a cigarette case and matches. “Smoke?”
“No thanks.”
“You don’t drink and you don’t smoke,” Philip said, but there was a teasing note in his voice. “What do you do for fun?”
Sam found himself blushing, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “I, um, draw.”
“And very well, from what I’ve glimpsed.” Philip leaned his shoulder against the streetlight’s iron post. The cutting wind dispersed the cigarette smoke, there and gone in an instant. “I’m serious about my offer to bond, Sam.”
“I know.” Sam put his hands in his pockets, feeling torn.
“I don’t care what else you’ve got going with Alistair,” Philip went on. “We’ll just file that under ‘none of my business.’”
“Why do you want to bond with me?” Sam asked, genuinely puzzled. “I’m not the only witch out there. You must have better prospects.”
Philip waved a hand; a glowing speck of ash fell from the tip of his cigarette, burning one moment and gone the next. “To start with, the whole ‘oh, I’m waiting for my witch’ is crap. It worked out for Wanda, but honestly, I’m not putting my life on hold indefinitely for some fairytale ending that might never happen. Or might turn out to be shit if it does. The truth is…” He hesitated. “Okay, don’t repeat this part, but working at The Pride is fine for Wanda and Alistair. She runs the joint, and it lets Alistair entomb himself without having to think too hard about what he’s doing. Teresa seems happy enough, but she’ll probably quit if she and Reinhold decide to have kids. Doris likes the work well enough because it gives her the money to do other things outside of The Pride.”