Carlos

For a cop, Turner drives recklessly and fast, making me press myself into the backrest of the passenger seat and grip the hand hold hard.

When we arrive at his house, he roars up the paved driveway, screeches to a halt, jerks the gearshift into position, stomps on the parking brake, pops his door open and leaps out all in one smooth motion. Then he marches up the path to the front door.

I follow him uncertainly, not knowing if he wants support or privacy at this point.

He takes the wide, flagstone steps three at a time, bounding to the top, stops short, stares at something on the ground, and swears. Then he unlocks the door, throws it open, and unleashes a pair of demons.

I fall back in fright as two enormous German Shepherds barrel towards me, barking furiously and wagging their tails. With classic finesse, I trip and fall on my ass, then roll and cover my head with my arms, hoping to protect myself from the ferocious beasts.

I feel wet noses, warm tongues, and hot breath on the back of my neck as Turner shouts at the top of his lungs in the background.

"Rick! Morty! No! Get over here, now!"

The dogs take off again, racing back towards the house and leaving me to pick myself up. I lift my head and see Turner kneeling to welcome the tail wagging duo with open arms, allowing himself to be showered in hyperactive doggy kisses.

Getting to my feet, I approach cautiously and hang back a bit while Turner hugs each dog in turn. He looks up at me, and despite how stressed out and angry he'd seemed a moment before, I see a genuine grin stretching his face.

"So, uh..." I rub the back of my neck. "You gonna introduce me?"

Turner gets to his feet, and the dogs flank him, each sitting obediently, watching me with heads tilted to the side, perked ears, and bright eyes.

"Yeah. My, uh... my ex-wife's brother breeds them for the police, but these two flunked out of puppy academy and were put up for adoption. Becky brought them home on a whim."

"Rick and Morty, huh?"

Turner laughs. "My ex-brother-in-law's sense of humor. Just be glad we didn't end up with their brothers — Beavis and Butt-head. Morty's a girl, by the way."

"Becky is your ex?" I ask, extending a hand, palm down and fingers loosely curled, for the dogs to sniff. One at a time they touch their noses to my knuckles, learning my scent.

"Yeah. She's an attorney, like my brother was. He introduced us.

"Does she live in Spring Lakes?"

"Nah. Down at the capitol, in Sacramento. 'Bout five hours away. Which is where she's on her way back to now, dog-free." He grabs a fistful of hair, the dark brown tufts jutting from between his fingers, and sighs. "Shit."

"I take it you guys didn't talk about, uh... doggy custody." In the meantime, the pair seemed to be warming up to me fast, melting my heart with their adoring eyes and making me forgive their initial excess of exuberance.

"We did," Turner says. "Or, at least I thought we did. When we split, she said she wanted them. I agreed; though I'd have agreed to anything then. Now she says they're too much to handle, and that they should be with me because I have more room. I work twenty-four hours straight sometimes. How am I suppose to take care of two large dogs?"

"I can help." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. "I like dogs."

Turner raises his gaze, and three pairs of eyes lock with mine — two brown and one hazel. "Yeah?"

My heart thuds in my chest, as if I'm standing on a precipice, about to take a leap of faith. "Yeah."

Turner nods. "Okay. I appreciate it. At least until we get this figured out."

Unsure whether he means Kyle's murder and the attempts on my life, or the argument with his ex and the doggo problem, I follow him inside.

"Your ex-wife has a key?" I ask, as he disarms the security system with a code.

"Nope. She just knows where I hide the spare. Time to change up my habits, I guess." He turns his attention to the dogs and gives them each a smile and a pat on the head that makes me irrationally envious. "Better get you up to speed, then. The good news is, they're potty-trained."

~ ★ ~

Taking care of dogs is more involved than I realized.

They need walks and exercise, toys and treats to keep them entertained, regular grooming, meals twice a day, and — of course — lots and lots of attention. Between them and my newly acquired dinner duties, I barely have time to worry about anything else, or to acknowledge the growing tension between Turner and myself.

Sometimes he looks like he hates the sight of me; sometimes it seems like I got a serious closet case on my hands.

Meanwhile, three more days go by.

"Why the special timing?" Turner asks, as I set down a platter of steaming hot beef empanadas for dinner. They're baked, rather than fried, but the pastry turned out golden and flaky, and the filling is delicious, if I do say so myself.

"Phases of the moon are important in a lot of ritual magic," I explain, sitting opposite him. I've told him everything I know about the second phase of the ritual — the Feast of Blood — which, if the practitioner stays on schedule, will need to be completed by dawn on Saturday, fourteen days since Kyle's murder and five days from now. "Kyle was murdered on a new moon, which is good for secret things and dark magic. Also, if timed right before or while the moon is completely dark, it's good for endings, and if right before or after it starts to come back, it's good for beginnings."

"So, you think Kyle was killed during that phase, beginning the cycle of the ritual?"

"Probably. This next feast will take place on the full moon, which is good for magic that centers on things coming to fruition — or reaching full potential. Finally, the last ritual — assuming we don't find and stop this guy — will be on the next new moon. The demon will enter this world in the absence of light, take and kill the host, and — if the summoner plays his cards right — grant a favor in return."

"What does this 'demon' want? Assuming it's real," Turner says, waving a half-eaten empanada at me, "and not just in some looney's imagination."

I sigh and slip Morty a bit of shredded beef under the table. Turner scowls but says nothing, awaiting my reply. I give myself a moment to think, and to come up with an explanation he'll understand.

"You heard of multiple dimensions, or the multiverse theory?"

He nods, mouth full.

"Well, it's kinda like that. Some of these dimensions are non-material, pure energy, where beings exist without physical bodies. A lot of these beings would fall under what, in English, we call 'demons,' for lack of a better term. Most aren't 'bad' or 'evil,' in the way we usually think, just like lions and hyenas and other predators aren't 'evil.' They're just doing what they do to survive. From an antelope's perspective, though, a lion might seem pretty malevolent. The humans are the antelopes in this scenario."

"They see us as food?"

"More or less. Human life is like sunlight — heat, warmth — to them. They crave it and are drawn to it, but usually they can't touch us. Like fish watching birds fly overhead, forever separated by the realms in which they live. Through rituals like the Feasts, though, they can enter this world by possessing a host. After the host's death, they're then free to roam this plane, in search of other victims, until somebody like my aunt comes along and ends them, or sends them back where they belong."

"Speaking of your aunt..." He wipes his fingers on a napkin and reaches for another empanada. "You heard anything?"

I look away. Morty whines and rests her head in my lap, as if sensing a need for comfort (or maybe she's just hoping for another taste of beef). I scratch the soft fur behind her ears.

"Nah. Not yet."

I got two more texts from 'Alejo,' though, asking me to 'hang out.' I hadn't even had a good time with him, but that's the most I've been pursued in a while, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered. Too bad I'm under anti-murder quarantine and can't take him up on it. The way Turner keeps staring at me, I'm gonna need to blow off some steam — or at least get blown — before I explode.

"Can't you send her an email or something?"

I laugh. "That's what Ian said."

"Ian?"

Turner's sharp tone makes me look up at him. He's watching me with that look again — the one that makes me feel too warm, and brings me back to that lion and antelope analogy. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he wanted me bad.

"My friend," I clarify. "He and his partner helped me get out of a bad situation with my aunt."

"Abusive?"

"I wouldn't go that far," I say with a shrug. "But it wasn't healthy, either. What about you? Why'd you split with your wife?"

He frowns, still watching me keenly, but he doesn't seem upset by the question. "I kept something a secret that I shouldn't have. She found out."

Intensely curious, I wait for him to say more, but he changes the subject.

"I'm thinking of revisiting the scene tomorrow. Bring the dogs along. They flunked out of police academy for being too playful, but they're still well-trained. Maybe they'll be useful. You might, too."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." I roll my eyes.

"You up for it?"

Sighing, I rise and start to clear the table. "Yeah, count me in. Besides, we're low on groceries. We can stop at the market afterwards."

He frowns. "Can't you just order online?"

I release my breath in a huff of annoyance and shake my head. "Yeah, I can order online. Sorry. I forgot we wouldn't want you to be seen shopping with a queer."

I flounce into the kitchen with as much flounce as I can muster, put in my earbuds, and start on the dishes. With upbeat Latin pop pounding in my ears, I don't hear Turner follow me, and jump out of my skin when I turn around and find him leaning against the opposite counter.

I take my earbuds out and frown at him. "What do you want? You ate six empanadas. You can't still be hungry."

"Not for food, no."

"What, then? I didn't make dessert."

He crosses his arms. "I get the feeling you're attracted to me, Carlos."

I blink at him as my brain double checks that my ears heard him right. "Yeah, well, can you blame me? You're hot as hell and I'm gay as fuck. Don't worry, though. I'm not dumb enough to come onto you."

I start to put my earbuds back in, intending to ignore him, but he pushes himself away from the counter and walks towards me. I back away and bump into the sink. He places his hands on either side of me, and I hold my breath. The look in his eyes is smoke and fire, and I can't tell if he's about to kiss me or fuck me up.

"I'm attracted to women," he growls.

"Okay," I whisper, eyes wide. "I believe you."

"I'm attracted to men, too. In fact, right now, I'm very attracted to you."

My mouth goes dry and my heart starts to race. "Y—You are?"

"Yeah, and it's a distraction I don't need. I been fighting it from day one. I just lost."

He leans a little closer and my heart skips a beat. "Really?"

"Yeah. So I'm gonna make things clear for you, Carlos. I wanna fuck you hard, and fuck you for days. Fuck you til you can't walk, take care of you until you can, and then fuck you again. That's my cards on the table. That's what you're getting into if you light this fire. Now it's your turn. You gonna do the dishes, or me?"

I can barely breathe, my blood is so full of hormones and adrenaline. He hasn't even touched me and my legs are already weak. I'm a little scared, and not at all certain this is a good idea. It feels too intense and too soon; then again, it won't be the first stupid move I've made, and as I meet his eyes and see the raw desire reflected back at me, there's only one honest answer I can give; even if it's just something he needs to get out of his system, there's no denying I want it, too.

"The dishes can wait."