As I parked near the house, I glanced in the rear view mirror and caught sight of Ryan’s car rounding the first curve of the driveway. I didn’t wait for him but trudged into the house and then to the kitchen, determined to do whatever it took to shake the numb, sick horror that threatened to swamp me. I opened and closed cabinets, stared into the fridge looking for something besides fresh fruit or leftovers. Something . . . perfect.
Ryan came in and set his laptop bag on a chair by the table. I didn’t look over at him but I felt his eyes on me. “Isn’t there any plain ordinary squidgy white bread in the house?” I demanded.
“Uh, no,” Ryan said, a hint of apology his voice. “Zack gets a sprouted grain and a really good multigrain bread. On the top shelf of the fridge.”
Sprouted grain? Why would any sane person want plants growing in their sandwich? Did nobody realize what happened when you swallowed a watermelon seed? I didn’t want a friggin’ bread garden growing in my gut.
My scowl deepened until it felt as if my face would break. I pulled out the multigrain, laid two slices on a paper towel and squirted liberal amounts of honey on each one. “It’s a funny thing,” I said tightly. “Seeing a girl who’d been horribly raped, tortured by cutting sigils into her body, then murdered so she could be a lure to trap and subvert me, kind of kills my mood.”
“It sucks. I’m really sorry.” He let out a heavy breath. “Is there anything I can help with to follow up on the arcane part?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest.” I dumped a layer of brown sugar on the honey and pressed the two pieces of bread together. “I have no idea how to track that shit.” I directed my scowl at the newly made honey and brown sugar sandwich, then flicked a burner on and set a skillet on it. I rummaged in the fridge, found the butter, dropped a quarter stick in the skillet.
“It needs bacon on it,” Ryan offered.
I turned a scathing look on him. “That’s a completelydifferent unhealthy comfort food sandwich,” I said with a curl of my lip. “It’s like when you add olives instead of little onions to vodka. Totally different drink.” I plopped the sandwich to fry in the butter.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said, his voice laden with concern. “I’m going downstairs to get started on my report. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
Smart boy to retreat. He knew me well enough to know I needed a little space but not abandonment. “I will.”
He picked up his laptop case, turned to go.
“Hey, Ryan?” I looked over at him as he glanced back. “Thanks.” A faint smile shifted my scowl. “This whole thing would be worse if I didn’t have a friend like you.”
He smiled and gave me a wink. “I’m one in a million, baby, and don’t you forget it.” And with that he left.
I finished frying my multigrain sugar fest, dismally aware that it would have been far better on good old reliable squidgy white bread. That was going at the top of the grocery list.
Still, even multigrain bread fried in butter and covered with honey and sugar wasn’t bad at all, and while I felt a teensy bit ill upon finishing it, I didn’t mind one bit, and my mood was somewhat improved.
After cleaning up my mess, I looked at the clock and exhaled. Over six hours before Mzatal would be ready to be summoned. I wanted him here now, wanted to feel his strong reassurance that we would get through this— allof this—together. I put the clean skillet away, then headed down to the basement to check the storage diagram. It brought him one step closer, plus Ryan was down there, and I was ready for the company of a friend.
Ryan glanced up from his laptop and gave me a smile which I managed to return.
“I’m going to check the storage diagram,” I told him. “Nothing fancy, so it shouldn’t disturb you.”
“No problem,” he said. “Do what you need to do.”
I crouched beside the diagram, assessed it. Ryan sat with his laptop in a pretense of industry, but I felt his eyes on me. I gathered wisps of potency, funneled as much as I could into the diagram, then sealed it. It would take a while for more potency to be available for collection, sort of like water seeping slowly in through concrete. One more session would likely fill it enough for my needs.
I let out a long soft breath. The routine focus of the work had eased the trauma of the morning a bit more.
Ryan shifted and cleared his throat. I stood and turned to him, amused to see him looking a little guilty for watching me instead of working.
“All done?” he asked.
“For now,” I said, keeping my humor well hidden. “I’ll come back in a couple of hours and top it off.”
Ryan nodded, his eyes still on me. “God, I’ve missed you.”
I moved to the futon and sat beside him then leaned my head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too.”
He set the laptop aside. “Like I said, it’s been a weird few months. Sometimes when I think of you being off with him, I get so pissed I do stupid shit like hit the wall.” He winced. “Or kick a concrete barricade. Not one of my brighter moments.” He dropped his head back. “Most of the time it’s not like that, though. I can think of you with him, and I’m . . . happy for you.”
I had no doubt Szerain maintained the calm as best he could, which supported my suspicion that hedidn’t have a problem with my relationship with Mzatal even if Ryan did. And those times when Szerain couldn’t resist the submersion enough to influence Ryan were the times when the Ryan aspect lashed out in jealous frustration.
Submersion. Revulsion shuddered through me at the reminder. A few months ago I’d talked Mzatal into submerging me so that I could understand Ryan/Szerain better. It was a nightmare—like being placed in a shoulder-width vertical tube with cold, viscous gel up to your chin, then having a grate pushed down until you had to press your face against it to keep from drowning. To add to the torment, you were forced to witness yourself living and interacting, but with little direct control over it. Never sleeping. Never knowing the relief of oblivion.
Szerain had existed thus for the past decade and a half. Horrific. I had no idea how he remained sane. I doubted I’d have lasted more than a week.
I slid my arm around him. “Mzatal’s very good to me. And forme.” I let out a low sigh. “I’m still a bit of a mess from what Rhyzkahl did to me, and I really believe Mzatal wants me to be, well, whole again.”
Ryan continued to stare up at the ceiling. “Yeah. That’s good. Can’t deny you look and sound better.”
“I’m getting there,” I said, then winced. “Sure wish I’d listened to you earlier though. About Rhyzkahl.”
He swiveled his head to look at me. “Yeah. What the hell is that all about?” he asked. “I know how I was, am, about you being around Rhyzkahl. But I don’t get that with Mzatal.” A perplexed look crossed his face. “Sure, I get my fits of jealousy, but it’s not the same at all. Makes no sense. I don’t know either one of the bastards.”
Ryan didn’t know them, but Szerain sure did since he’d spent millennia with them. Ryan was Szerain and Szerain was Ryan, but in an unhealthy, cruel imbalance. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell Ryan that was why he had fervent opinions he didn’t understand. “I think it must be part of your talent or whatever,” I said with a diffident shrug. “You’ve met them both, and maybe you got a shitty vibe from Rhyzkahl and a not so shitty one from Mzatal.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But I’m pretty sure I had it in for Rhyzkahl long before I had the so-called pleasure of meeting him.” He gave me a wry smile. “Must be my impeccable instinct. You’ll listen to me from now on.”