Chapter 5

Jeffrey twisted the knob to Clark’s office, which used to be a supply room. It was small and held a shoddy desk, two rickety guest chairs, and a deathtrap Clark liked to call the executive’s throne. Clark kept a corkboard on one wall, full of everything from receipts to memos to sketches Jeffrey did, and studying the board with a keen interest was a tall guy with broad shoulders, dark hair, dusky skin, and wearing a red sweater and jeans.

“Hey,” Jeffrey said, confused and alarmed. “What are you—”

Aquila, of the umber eyes, talented hands, and perfect cock, jumped and faced Jeffrey. The door shut, blocking Ken’s bellowing, and Jeffrey pressed himself against it. He blinked, hard, and Aquila was still there. Jeffrey did it again: no change. They stared at each other, and Jeffrey mentally tore down the altar in his apartment and replaced it with Clark’s head on a pike, cartoon Xs over the eyes and tongue lolling.

“Uh, I—” Aquila began.

“What the—” Jeffrey said at the same time.