“We checked theSupernaturalwiki, and it said that they used real incantations from Roman doctrine, so we thought it would be good enough for our game.”
“Game?” Jericho echoed.
Arabella gave him a pitying glance. “Yeah, Uncle Jericho. Demons aren’t real.” Her gaze darted to the sisters. “Sorry. I know you guys think they are, but they’re not. None of this is really real.”
The other kids all nodded sincerely. The conviction of children, unshakable, smug, and utterly damning.
“Perhaps it would be best if the kids stayed home for a few days,” Sister Josephine said tightly.
“You’re suspending second graders for being atheists?” Atticus asked, disdain dripping from every word.
“No, Mr. Mulvaney, I’m suspending them for escaping recess, breaking into the chapel, stealing holy water, and eating two bags of communion wafers,” Sister Josephine shot back.
A beat of silence. Then Ty snorted. Hard. Lucas coughed into his fist to cover a laugh, and Thomas looked one sideways glance away from writing a check for the chapel’s repairs.
When, once more, the parents turned on the children, Jasmine only shrugged. “We were hungry.Huntrixalways carb-loads before their kills and their shows.”
“Still,” Thomas said, “suspension seems a bit much.”
“I agree,” Cherice said, sitting up a little straighter, looking at Sister Mary Elizabeth like the two women might once have been rivals themselves. “After all, it was Sister Mary Elizabeth who decided to give them a lesson in actual demon hunting, was it not?”
Not Cherice coming in clutch.
All the parents turned to give Sister Josephine a knowing look. The older woman sighed, white-knuckling her own tangled fingers. “Fine. We’ll let it go…again. But this is your final warning. There is only so much protection a last name can provide,” she said, looking pointedly at Thomas. “It seems I’m outnumbered. Still, wewillbe revisiting our costume policy next year.”
They decided to quit while they were ahead. The meeting dispersed quickly after that, with Thomas asking if they wanted him to take the kids for a playdate with their cousins. Both couples refused; they already had plans for the following day before the official Halloween-weekend festivities. The childrenwere not at all happy about this turn of events but accepted it in lieu of the grounding that was the counter-offer.
Outside, the evening had gone silver-cold, the air sharp with rain and exhaust. The gothic bulk of St. Agnes loomed behind them like it was watching, judgment carved in stone. August tucked his hand into Lucas’s, the faint scrape of wedding rings the only sound between them as they walked to the car.
Atticus’s breath caught as the solid weight of his husband’s body trapped him against the counter. After years of this, maybe he should have been used to it. Maybe the way his head tilted to the side instinctively was him getting used to it. He bit his bottom lip as Jericho’s mouth explored the column of his neck.
The kitchen around them was dim except for the warm glow from under the cabinets, the only light they’d bothered to leave on after getting the kids settled. It painted Jericho in amber, big hands, bigger shoulders, and that familiar heat rolling off him like a second skin. Atticus could still smell the sugary scent of the cookies he’d made with the boys after dinner, could see the dish soap drying in streaks on the counter, and the remnants of salt he’d missed from the twins' attempts at making ‘holy water.’
Which was, according to them, salt water. Atticus didn't feel the need to disavow them of this idea. The last thing he needed were the boys trying to find an old priest and a young priest.
“Are our little demon hunters finally asleep?” he murmured.
“Mm,” Jericho said, distractedly, his rough hands sliding around Atticus’s hips and under his pajama pants, squeezing in a way that made him want to groan.
His palms were warm, the heat seeping through the thin cotton of Atticus’s shirt, grounding him in the most deliciously domestic way. His lips brushed along Atticus's neck. He tilted his head to give him more access, his cock already stirring with interest.
“Guess exorcisms take a lot out of you,” he said, his hand coming up to catch in Jericho’s dark hair, holding his mouth to his skin.
He could still hear faint echoes of the chaos from an hour ago, little feet pounding down the hall, a holy-water-soaked teddy bear hitting the tile, the twins arguing over whether demons preferred under beds or inside closets. Now, the house was calm, their world shrinking to the press of Jericho’s body and the low rumble in his chest.
“Think our boys will ever learn to say no to their cousins?” Jericho asked.
Atticus snorted. “Well, given that there’s only three other females in the family besides the twins, and those three women run all of our lives, it’s not looking good, statistically speaking.”
He felt Jericho smile against his skin. The Mulvaneys and, by extension, Jericho’s boys, had learned long ago that letting the women make the decisions made all of their lives so much easier. He didn’t think the next generation would be any different. The only variable was that none of the women in their lives currently fell under any known psychopathy, unlike Adi and Ara who seemed to take after August. They were the wild cards.
Atticus shivered as another soft kiss landed on his neck. “Still want to watch scary movies with me, Freckles?”
“Is that code for ‘do you want to try to concentrate on a bad movie while I fuck you?’”
Jericho huffed out a laugh. “You know me so well.”
“That I do,” Atticus admitted. “But you’re painfully transparent when it comes to motives.”
