Page 12 of Investigation of a Quest

Bel groaned, too embarrassed to open her eyes. She’d turned thirty-five on her last birthday, but she was acting fifteen. Eamon was right. Everyone knew it. But she couldn’t believe it. Every time she lay down at night, she replayed the pressure of the trigger against her finger, the backward snap of Triton’s head, the utter hatred begging her to put him down like an animal. The guilt was eating her alive, and no amount of reason from history’s most bloodthirsty predator could assuage it.

Realizing that she was awake, Cerberus rolled onto his back and stuck all four of his legs into the air. Bel smirked, all too eager to oblige him and bury her face in his soft chest. At least there was one man in her life that she hadn’t pissed off… yet.

After a few minutes of lazy cuddles, her dog slid off the bed and marched to the front door to demand his morning walk, and Bel didn’t even bother to change out of her pajamas. It had been over a year since a witch had killed her elderly neighbor and assumed her identity, but her cabin still sat empty. People didn’t relish the idea of renting a serial killer’s home across the lawn from a cop, so she wasn’t in jeopardy of running into anyone looking like a mismatched mess the cat dragged in.

Snapping Cerberus’ harness on and donning a coat and shoes, she opened the door… and froze. Someone was there to witness her disheveled appearance, and she glared at the expensive car. So much for him respecting her ‘don’t follow me’ demand.

Eamon glanced up from his phone and raised his coffee thermos at her in greeting. Bel rolled her eyes at him and dragged her dog in the opposite direction, but a huge weight lifted off her chest. It was a good thing her boyfriend was a borderline stalker.

She instantly felt less anxious about how they’d left things last night, and she enjoyed her walk with her favorite boy. Her job as a detective often kept her too busy to savor long morning walks with her dog, leaving the task to Eamon when she worked a case, so she liked that she’d been able to reclaim that honor. He was her furkid after all…

If only that were true. Cerberus would always be mostly hers, but it was no longer one hundred percent. At least twenty percent of his little soul belonged to Eamon, so when they returned to the cabin, she let go of his leash. She wasn’t ready to speak to the gorgeous man pissing her off, but the second the pitbull realized Eamon was in the car, he took off running. Bel left the two to say good morning while she made breakfast, and when his food landed in his bowl, Cerberus magically appeared in her doorway, Eamon’s car gone since he’d confirmed proof of life.

Bel then spent a slow day working from home with her boy, something she’d never enjoyed as a detective, and it reinforced that this new job was the right thing for her… even if her mind kept drifting to yesterday’s autopsy. She couldn’t help it. How had the killer pulled the scarecrow’s brain from his skull? And why take only the brain?

Those questions plagued her until she left for the contest’s second judging. She didn’t dress up, nor did she invite Eamon. She went alone, praying that no one else would be found absent their mind. Unlike the magic of the first night, this street celebrated conservatively with a larger police force. The haunted house felt like a movie set, the design a spooky jail, but it couldn’t compete with the spaceship theme. Even if the scarecrow’s death wasn’t hanging over them and poisoning the fun, this jailhouse couldn’t match the otherworldly experience of leaving Earth for a terrifying science fiction adventure.

But this haunted house did have one significant advantage. No dead bodies. Bel realized she hadn’t breathed properly all night until she locked herself in her SUV and drove home. Every time a monster or zombie lunged out of a shadow, she panicked that the blood and guts were real. By the time she pulled into her driveway, she desperately needed the calming effect of her dog’s cuddles. It was one thing to spike your heart rate because an actor jumped out at you. It was another to sweat through your clothes because you might encounter a human corpse instead of a decoration.

“Hi, Baby Beast!” she called as she opened the door. “Come hug Mommy. She needs—” Bel froze when she saw who sat uninvited at her kitchen table. She’d never given the man a key, yet he always managed to walk through her locked doors.

“I know you want to be left alone.” Eamon stood up and shoved his laptop into its carrier. “I just wanted to check you made it home safe after what happened last⁠—”

Bel face-planted into his chest, cutting off his apology, and wrapped her arms around his powerful waist. An Eamon hug was so much more comforting than her dog’s. Cerberus was her perfect boy, but this kind of anxiety called for the one person in her life who could protect her from all evil.

“You okay?” he asked, hesitantly slipping his arms around her shoulders. “They didn’t find anything, did they?”

“No,” she mumbled into his chest. “But I spent the entire night freaking out that every bloody actor or decoration was a human corpse, and my nervous system is fried. Haunted houses are only fun when you know everything is fake. When it might be real, it’s pure stress.”

“I can imagine.” Eamon kissed her forehead. “I’m glad nothing happened, though.”

“Me too.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes.” Bel tightened her hold on his body.

“Do you still love me?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“So that’s a no?”

“Correct.” She kissed his chest before staring up at him. “Would you like some tea? I need to put on a comedy and relax. I cannot get my heart rate to slow down.”

“I know. I heard it the minute you walked in.” Eamon placed a palm over her heart to catch the thundering organ in case it beat out of her ribcage. “Why don’t you take a bubble bath, and I’ll make you a tea.”

“Or you could take a bath with me… if you can fit in my tub.”

“Oh, I’ll make myself fit.” He captured her face and studied her for a moment before kissing her gently. “Go fill the tub. I’ll get the chamomile.”

“I’m sorry I stormed out last night,” Bel said when Eamon finally slid his too-large frame into the water behind her.

“Making too much sense, was I?” he teased. The downside of dating a man almost older than civilization. He’d seen too much for her to pull a fast one on him.

“It’s hard to explain.” She lay back against his chest. “Everyone agrees with you, but you aren’t in my head, and that’s the guilt I can’t get past.”

“I have been in your head, though,” Eamon said. “That urge to kill. The longing. The need. I know it all too well. So, I understand the pull, the anger. The big difference is that my desire to end a life usually resulted in hundreds of soldiers bleeding out on stakes, whereas yours saved three innocent lives.”